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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280517">Carnations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltz_of_the_lilies/pseuds/midnight%20blue'>midnight blue (waltz_of_the_lilies)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1950s, Angst with a Happy Ending, Detective C. C. Tinsley, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Serial Killer Ricky Goldsworth, Slow Burn, also a LOT of bickering, chapters are homegrown and written with Love and internalized homophobia, emotionally constipated tinsley, grudging mutual respect, no beta wie die like men, nsfw chapters will be tagged, smol but angry ricky, some of that mob stuff, tinsworth with a gratuitous dash of the ghoul bois' emotionally scarring argument over Cars (2006), updates mondays n thursdays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:42:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>105,679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltz_of_the_lilies/pseuds/midnight%20blue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Private investigator C.C. Tinsley is a 30 years old detective well known within his field as the Sharp Eye for being extremely skilled at finding evidence so damning that his cases become easy to defend in court. In spite of this, Tinsley is not very famous, due to his propensity for taking on smaller, more discreet cases. </p><p>This time however, C.C. Tinsley accepts a case in Chicago featuring a string of murdered criminals. The work is attributed to a serial killer by the moniker of "The White Wolf’’. In the process of investigation, the private investigator will soon realize that people are not who they seem, and in comes crashing the conflicts of past and present.</p><p>—  </p><p>Or, the one in which "not even all caps can encapsulate the feeling of just mental obliteration. " (a stellar review brought to you by s0me0ne_writes_h3r3)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ricky Goldsworth &amp; C.C. Tinsley, Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome, welcome to this caffeine-fuelled extravaganza of a fic! Please scroll to the end if you're not familiar with the game Werewolf (or Mafia) for explanations. Hope you enjoy your stay!</p><p>CW: graphic depictions of violence/death</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I’m sure you’ve heard of the game Werewolf. Or Mafia, however you call it. ’’</p><p> </p><p>Heard of, probably. He sure can hear alright. He definitely can perceive the faint sound of some local news reporter blabbering in the background. <em>The body of 46 years old Martin O’Connor was found this morning, brutally stabbed to death. O’Connor was previously acquitted for the rape and murder of his wife Elizabeth; this may be the eighth victim in six months.</em></p><p> </p><p>But as much as he could listen to his TV, TV is made to be watched. And that’s the problem here, really. In terms of sight, he most certainly can't see shit. In fact, if he could see anything, it’d probably be the searing pain in his eyes, dancing around like sickeningly bright stars.</p><p> </p><p>"Have you ever played the game as a werewolf? It’s quite the thrill. You play the nice guy with your town buddies at daytime, then you meet up with all your wolf friends at night and pick an unsuspecting villager to casually maul to death. For fun, you know. And the villagers can do nothing but accuse one another while silently awaiting their timely gruesome demise. "</p><p> </p><p>Stars. He has seen stars before. They were, after all, witnesses to that fateful night, when he proposed to his girlfriend Alice just a week ago. The blue diamond ring he offered her reflected the deep blue of the beautiful night sky. It was a lovely evening, one of the best days of his life.</p><p> </p><p>"Or what about the heated debates at the town square? Witnessing everyone turn on each other for a murder you know you committed at heart. Oh, isn’t that a twisted pleasure, to feel like you didn’t get caught? "</p><p> </p><p>There was another time he saw stars like those. He gazed at those for way too long when the guy next door died, hoping the sound of agony would finally die down. They eventually did.</p><p> </p><p>"Or perhaps you were just hoping to last for as long as you possibly can, peeping at the wolves as they collectively planned the town’s demise, as a little girl who dies tragically too soon, " the voice continued. It was a very soothing voice, sweet as honey and smooth as butter.</p><p> </p><p>What a sharp contrast this young man’s angelic voice is to his current misery. Here’s the thing. He wasn’t blind, never has been. And yet, he can't see anything. He's certain he was laying on his couch just a few hours ago. Now he’s probably still on that couch, but now in excruciating pain. He cannot pinpoint it, but it feels as if he was being stabbed by a thousand knives. One thing’s for sure: his eyelids feel raw, very raw.</p><p> </p><p>"I’ll tell you what. I think the little girl is just as guilty as the werewolves for not calling them out at night. She’s equally guilty in the murder of her fellow townspeople. She might as well be a werewolf at this point, " the voice mused.</p><p> </p><p>What the fuck is happening to him?</p><p> </p><p>"Who the fuck are you?’’ he finally croaks out. He would’ve asked what’s going on as well, but his dizziness wouldn't allow him to. The sharp, searing pain travelling through his body is rapidly dimming his sense of reality.</p><p> </p><p>It finally dawned on him. Whoever was narrating him this stupid essay on a children’s game was no joke at all. He struggled frantically to move, but his body would not cooperate anymore.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Martin O’Connor’s death is being investigated as part of the ongoing string of White Wolf murders. More details to follow.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, me?’’ The voice laughed playfully, yet the laugh harboured strange undertones that screamed danger. "I’m Ricky Goldsworth. Or perhaps, the White Wolf killer for you. Night night, Little Girl. "</p><p> </p><p>He barely gets the time to retort as a sharp, cold blade rips across the skin of his throat and slices right into his trachea. He cries in agony, and then there was nothing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Background information on the Werewolf game (or Mafia) for those of you who do not know it:</p><p>    Werewolf is a multiplayer game where players get divided in two major groups: werewolves (usually 3-4 of them in a group of 8-10) and villagers (including special roles like witches, little girls, hunters, etc).</p><p>    The game cycles through night and day in each round.</p><p>    When night falls, werewolves wake up when prompted by the game master and choose a villager to kill. They then proceed to fall back asleep, and subsequent special roles wake up to exert special skills.</p><p>    When day comes, the body of the murdered person is discovered (said person is removed from the game), and everyone (werewolves included) has to debate and accuse one another as werewolves. Following the debate, the main accused person is hanged and removed from the game. The game is over when either side kills the entirety of the other (e.g. no villagers left, or no werewolves left).</p><p>    Special roles relevant to this story:</p><p>    Little Girl: a villager who is allowed to peep during the werewolves’ round. The Little Girl thus usually knows who the werewolves are, but has to be discreet enough so as to not get noticed by the werewolves (otherwise they could just kill her). The Little Girl also cannot rat out a werewolf without revealing her identity, which usually results in her death in subsequent rounds when the werewolves kill her. The Little Girl is often killed in early rounds of the game, at least in my experience.</p><p>    White Wolf: a werewolf who meets with the other werewolves to kill a villager, but wakes up for an additional round afterwards to kill a werewolf. The White Wolf wins if he manages to kill everyone else in the game. For the sake of this story however, the White Wolf is mostly a werewolf killer, a murderer who turns on his own kind.</p><p>    --</p><p>    If you like this fic, please consider leaving a kudos or a comment, feedback is appreciated! I've already got the outline of the fic written down (boy oh boy you're in for a rollercoaster), aiming for 55 chapters. Publishing schedule TBD but I've already got 5 chapters written so stay tuned for more details :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The White Wolf Killer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: graphic descriptions of violence/death, gore</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Coffee or tea, sir?" </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was reading newspaper when he was pulled from his trance. His dark circled eyes travelled from the paper to the girl standing in front of him. She was holding a food trolley with enough drinks to last him a month. Coffee, milk, jasmine green tea, Earl Grey black tea, orange juice and water; there was even wine and bourbon. The sweet aromas of the drinks permeated the train compartment, mingling with the ever-present faint smell of cigarettes. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sat up and placed a small black kitten on his lap before replying, "I'll have a cup of green tea, please. " </p><p> </p><p>The girl carefully eyed the man before her, glancing at his unruly brown hair and the cat hairs peppering his khaki trench coat. She obliged. As she prepared his drink, the unkempt man continued to observe the trolley. There was no food on it, but the tall detective figured it was normal, as Chicago was just short of two hours away from Schaumburg. In fact, even drinks on the train were a luxury in his book, but he didn't pay for this ride. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley thanked the trolley girl as he graciously accepted the cup of tea. He was going to resume his reading, but he figured he could use a little break to think about the past 24 hours. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The day before </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Private investigator C.C. Tinsley at your service, how may I help you, ma'am? "</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The detective's attention was turned towards the tall blonde woman who just entered his small office. The lady was professionally dressed, black blazer and pencil skirt with high heels that punctuated her every step. Her straight posture and direct eye contact exuded an aura of power and confidence. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Holly Horsley, district attorney for the city of Chicago. I've heard quite a lot about you, detective. I would like to formally request your services in solving a serial killer case in my city. "</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley sighed. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"I am honoured by your visit, Ms. Horsley, but with all due respect, I cannot accept your case. With your level of practice, I believe you could find better detectives than a simple suburban private eye. "</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This wasn't the first time someone attempted to offer him a big case. The 30 years old detective thought a simple and polite refusal would suffice to deter these kinds of people and send them right back through the door. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But much to his surprise, the blonde woman hardly even flinched. Instead, she continued: </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"C.C. Tinsley, from Schaumburg, Illinois. Private Investigator since age 18, you quickly became known within our field as The Sharp Eye. You do not take on big cases, and yet all of your clients are thoroughly impressed by your clue-catching skills. You're said to find evidence so incriminating that you shorten the timeline of court cases. "</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"If you know I do not take on big cases, why hire me?" </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"I know you don't want anything that would put you in the spotlight, detective. I can offer you a big case where you work in the comfortable shadows. You will not be working alongside my team, but rather observing from a different angle. I need your skills as a private eye, and in turn, I will thank you with more money than all of your previous cases combined. "</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley studied Horsley. The district attorney had a fiery look in her azure eyes as she slowly advanced towards the tall detective's desk, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Think about it, detective. As a token of my sincerity, here's a train ticket and a stipend for accepting my offer. You will also find the address to my office, although I assume you hardly will need it based on your outstanding skills. " </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced at the punched train ticket. The stipend that came with it would already be sufficient for three months of living expenses. The brown haired P.I. sighed and resumed his reading. </p><p> </p><p>Over the past six months, a total of eight criminals were discovered dead in the city of Chicago. The deceased were oftentimes themselves suspected or convicted murderers, or even serial killers. The victims were murdered with their own modus operandi, and a scented business card with a wolf insignia was left in the victim's pocket. This series of homicides was dubbed the White Wolf murders, referring to the treacherous role in the children's game Werewolf. </p><p> </p><p>The PI had a feeling this was the case he's been assigned to. As he acquired more information about the city from the paper, a loud siren sounded off, signalling the end of the detective's ride. Tinsley gently tucked the newspaper in his worn leather suitcase, took his furry companion into his arms and stepped out of the compartment into the city of Chicago. </p><p> </p><p>--- </p><p> </p><p>"Here it is, " Tinsley stops before a grey building at the corner of the street. </p><p> </p><p>A few people were smoking on the sidewalk holding signs reading, "POLICE CAN FUCK OFF," "ALL HAIL THE WHITE WOLF," "BASTARDS DESERVED IT." Similar messages were sprayed in bright red paint on the brick walls of the Chicago Police Department. </p><p> </p><p>The detective gulped. He could feel the ostensibly hostile glares burning holes in his back as he attempted to walk as naturally as possible into the door of the city's police station and towards the friendly receptionist girl before him. </p><p> </p><p>"Hi! How may I help you on this fine day, err, sir?" </p><p> </p><p>The receptionist, a young woman dressed as neatly and as professionally as the district attorney, eyed the stark contrast of disaster fashion before her. Tinsley was donning the stereotypical detective's outfit: trench coat, black tie, felt hat, dress shirt... And yet, in this moment he seemed like none other than chaos incarnate to the startled woman. While it was normal for messy bed haired citizens in pajamas to run into the police station frantically to call in crimes, it hadn't been the case recently. In fact, Tinsley appeared to be the first unkempt visitor in a while. And probably the first with a cat on his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>It didn't take long, however, before the receptionist composed herself. </p><p> </p><p>"Are you here to report an incident, sir?" </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley looked around. Behind the front desk was a long, well-lit hallway paved in marble. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh no, I'm not... I have a meeting with Ms. Holly Horsley, would you be so kind as to show me the way? "</p><p> </p><p>"Sure! Right this way, sir. "</p><p> </p><p>The receptionist, or Darla, as her name tag suggested, got up from her seat and motioned Tinsley to follow her. Darla was slightly shorter than the average woman, but next to this lamp post of a detective, she seemed incredibly small. Nevertheless, she led Tinsley down the hallway and to her right. Few decorations adorned the walls of the police department. </p><p> </p><p>It really didn't take long before they arrived before the large, polished wooden door. "HOLLY HORSLEY, Chicago District Attorney's Office" was engraved on a frosted glass plate on the door. The private investigator thanked his guide, who headed back to her station, and knocked on the door. </p><p> </p><p>A familiar female voice answered. But this time, it wasn't the cool and confident tone Tinsley had been addressed with the previous day. It was actually... quite exasperated? </p><p> </p><p>"For the ninth time, Banjo, I am coming! Just give me half an hour, some people are busy you know? "</p><p> </p><p>"Uhh, this is C.C. Tinsley, Ms. Horsley. You, err, came to my office yesterday. "</p><p> </p><p>A pause. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley wasn't sure if the message registered on the other side. Maybe she still assumed it was Ben Joe, or whoever she was addressing earlier?</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not Ben Joe, Ms. Hors-. "</p><p> </p><p>He could barely finish his sentence before the door flung open and the detective was welcomed by Chicago's most high profile lawyer. Horsley smiled. </p><p> </p><p>“Detective Tinsley. I’m delighted to see that you accepted my offer. Come, I already booked a place to stay for you. And then I'll show you the newest victim. "</p><p> </p><p>--- </p><p> </p><p>The time: 9:17 AM. The date: March 13th, 1951. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was driving a posh black car with the most famous lawyer in Chicago on board, headed towards God knows what kind of carnage he'd have to witness. Tinsley shuddered at the mere idea of journalists swarming him with questions about the case, his credentials, his background and personal life... </p><p> </p><p>Usually, the DA would've driven her new hire to the crime scene as a courtesy. However, Holly, as she insisted Tinsley call her, decided to lend him a car on top of providing him an apartment, where they had already put the detective's belongings. Tinsley was quite reluctant in leaving Buddy alone in a room for hours, but Holly made sure the little guy had food, water, and a ball of yarn to play with while his tall owner investigated bloody scenes. </p><p> </p><p>The private investigator drove slowly and carefully, his eyes trained on the signalling lights in the morning Chicago traffic, his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. </p><p> </p><p>He could feel the stare of his new employer and VIP passenger next to him. The attorney sighed. </p><p> </p><p>"Relax, detective," she reassured. "Remember how I promised you wouldn't be in the spotlight? I may be a hardened lawyer, but I am a woman of my words, Tinsley. You will meet my team today at the crime scene, but you're not going to be working at the police station. " </p><p> </p><p>"Then where would I work? " The detective-turned-chauffeur's gaze did not leave the road before him. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm giving you a private office, right next to your apartment. It's a mere 5 minutes drive away from the station, but at least you'll be away from the prying eyes of the public. I hired you to be a private eye, after all. "</p><p> </p><p>"Chicago's police department must really be well funded to afford such luxury for a mere detective. "</p><p> </p><p>"Well, no. If we lose this case, we lose the people's trust. Funding will be removed, " the lawyer pointed out. "I can afford you the privacy, detective, as long as you bring me the evidence. "</p><p> </p><p>Minutes later, Tinsley pulled into the parking lot of a residential building. They had arrived at the crime scene. </p><p> </p><p>Holly Horsley is the first to step out of the car, heading straight towards a burly police officer waving at her. The private investigator followed his client closely behind. </p><p> </p><p>"You're late, Horsley- " the officer began. </p><p> </p><p>"I had more pressing business to attend to, Banjo, " the tall blonde woman swiftly interrupted him as she scanned the building. "Now, we have a murder to attend to, don’t we? ’’ </p><p> </p><p>"Right. Tom and Bill are already on it. You’re going to want to see this, Horsley. And who may this be? "</p><p> </p><p>Banjo glanced at Tinsley, who was slightly startled by the officer’s sudden interest in his identity. The detective offered a polite greeting. </p><p> </p><p>"Private investigator C.C. Tinsley, at your service. "</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I have heard heaps about you, detective! I’m Banjo McClintock, chief police officer of the Chicago Police Department. Pleased to meet you, " the smaller rotund man beamed. "Although, I admit it is a bit surreal to see you in person in our city. What brings a subtle man like you in a big city like this? "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hesitated to answer. Before he could formulate a reply, Holly Horsley dragged the two men into the building. </p><p> </p><p>"Enough chit-chat. Banjo, he’ll be working the case, but as a separate entity. Let’s see what this bastard did again. "</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>They were greeted by nothing short of horror. </p><p> </p><p>Two police officers were surrounding the apartment with bright yellow barricade tape and pathologists were examining the room, scribbling meticulous observations into small notepads. Local news was still being broadcasted on the television in the apartment; its owner seemed to have left before turning it off. </p><p> </p><p>At the centre of it all lied a Caucasian man in his 40s, still in his boxers, unconscious. His entire body was covered in deep stab wounds. His throat had been slashed and his eyelids were sown shut, the threads that pierced the man’s skin were stained with dried blood. A white card with a wolf insignia, immaculately white, lied in the palm of the man’s lifeless left hand. </p><p> </p><p>According to forensic pathologists on site, the man, identified as Mr. John McFishe, had been dead for 7 hours, which placed the time of murder at roughly 2-3 o’clock in the early morning. Evident trauma ruled out the possibility of a natural death. All fingerprint evidence had been wiped clean prior to the team’s arrival, but the seemingly innocuous business card was telling. </p><p> </p><p>McFishe had become the ninth victim of the White Wolf Killer. </p><p> </p><p>Even Tinsley, who had only been in the city for a few hours, knew that much from the murderer’s signature. The detective caught a faint scent of carnations in the midst of the gruesome scene before him, and he felt sick. </p><p> </p><p>Guess he was to investigate the most notorious serial killer of the city, after all. </p><p> </p><p>The police team was running around and working the scene. Everyone was buzzing with information about the case. McFishe was a middle class man who lived in a relatively violent district of the city. He is survived by his fiancée Alice Czajka, who’s currently residing in Virginia. McFishe’s death is the second homicide in the same building within a short period of time. Oddly enough, the first one was his neighbour, who was however <strong>not</strong> a White Wolf murder. </p><p> </p><p>"Look, " Holly Horsley argued, "I know the M.O. doesn’t make sense and it does seem fishy, but we can all agree this is indeed the signature of the White Wolf. No one else would even consider using such ridiculous business cards. "</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, we agree it is. But John McFishe doesn’t even have a criminal record! " Banjo exclaimed. </p><p> </p><p>"Perhaps the White Wolf graduated to killing regular civilians? I mean, murderers are a rare breed to hunt if you ask me, " one officer suggested. </p><p> </p><p>"Nonsense! " another shouted. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley carefully studied the team and the environment, each more chaotic than the other. Everyone participated in the heated discussion, bringing more ideas to the table than a disengaged detective ever could. </p><p> </p><p>"Are we sure that the neighbour wasn’t also murked by this guy? "</p><p> </p><p>"No Tom, we’ve been over this. That was a mob job. Shot clean in the noggin’, no perfumed card funny business. "</p><p> </p><p>"Um, Holly? "</p><p> </p><p>The district attorney turned her head to her right. Her new hire, C.C. Tinsley, had spoken. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, what is it, detective Tinsley? "</p><p> </p><p>"I just wanted to clarify something with you. Judging from the energy from all of you, I’m assuming there’s also a lot of pressure from the media to close the case. That would also be why you hired me. Am I correct? "</p><p> </p><p>"Um actually detective, with all due respect, we are working against the media at the moment, " Banjo rectified. "You may be new to this place, but you’ll soon find out that papers have been painting this guy as the new damn saviour or something. "</p><p> </p><p>"Regardless, we have to arrest the White Wolf. This is a matter of credibility, but also of justice, " Holly insisted. </p><p> </p><p>"You may have it easy in your cozy office, Madame Attorney, but we simple policemen are getting harassed by protesters on the reg’, and frankly, I’m starting to get tired of it. "</p><p> </p><p>"Bold complaint from a man who doesn’t even believe McFishe was murdered by the White Wolf simply based on the M.O. "</p><p> </p><p>"I just want to have ONE day where we don’t get egged! Is that too much to ask for? "</p><p> </p><p>"Well perhaps you should then reassess your professional performance if the citizens you serve express their dissatisfaction daily, Officer McClintock. "</p><p> </p><p>"Enough! " one of the pathologists interjected, slamming the table violently. "Some people are trying to actually work here, if you’re going to argue, do it outside! "</p><p> </p><p>The pathologist’s outburst startled the entire team. There was a moment of silence. The officers looked at each other. Then, Holly turned towards the front door. </p><p> </p><p>"Well, I think our work is done here for today. Detective, let’s go. "</p><p> </p><p>The private investigator sheepishly obliged, following the clicking steps through the door. The other police officers soon followed suit. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>"Nervous, detective? "</p><p> </p><p>"Not really. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was not nervous. At least not in his book, he thought as he tightened his grip around the steering wheel once again. He was simply thinking about the White Wolf case, that was all. But in the eyes of Holly Horsley, the detective might as well have swapped her car for a turtle. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh for heaven’s sake, I can almost hear your thinking. Still not convinced by my offer? "</p><p> </p><p>"Well, partly. But I also don’t understand, Ms. Horsley. "</p><p> </p><p>"Holly, please. "</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry, force of habit. You seem to have a fairly solid team back there. You yourself have not lost a single case you were in charge of. I struggle to see why you would need a private eye when you could easily convict the killer yourself. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley stared distantly into the traffic before him. He failed to notice the fleeting fire in Holly’s eyes. It was gone within a second. </p><p> </p><p>"You are a man of details, Sharp Eye. As you will soon find out in the press conference tomorrow, my team is not appreciated by the people of Chicago. According to many in this city, the police department is failing the citizens; but how could we do our job if we tried each criminal differently? The White Wolf is no different than other murderers, and yet he is praised like a vigilante god within the community. We could find sufficient evidence to convict the White Wolf, but it would not suffice to convince the people. Without popular support, we will only seem like tyrants. "</p><p> </p><p>"You need me to find as much evidence as possible to screw the White Wolf over to high heavens. "</p><p> </p><p>"You are a smart man, detective. I’m fairly certain you are best suited for this case. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was still thinking about the details he gathered today. But unfortunately, he failed to realize his foot's pressed more firmly into the gas pedal. In spite of the blaring cry of nearby horns, neither Horsley nor Tinsley had the time to brace for impact as Tinsley rammed into a shiny red Porsche at a red light intersection. The detective was violently projected against the steering wheel as he stepped fully on the brakes. The loud siren sound rang in his ears. Horrified, he turned to Holly to see if she was okay. </p><p> </p><p>"Although, " his client remarked, huffing, "perhaps you’re less suited for driving. "</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Of Cars and Human Headaches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Christ, Ricky, do you even have a slightest clue how hard it was to get rid of your fingerprints? They were everywhere! "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was enjoying a lollipop and driving his interlocutor through the busy Chicago streets. He appeared barely fazed by the woman’s complaints as he savoured the sweet lime taste on his tongue. His passenger, a dark-haired, strikingly beautiful woman in her 30s, exuded an air of mystery with her sunhat, tinted shades and crimson lipstick. At least, that was her aura if one was not made aware of her rant. </p><p> </p><p>"I had to scrub them clean myself! It took me hours, HOURS! Almost didn’t make it before police came… For heaven’s sake, Ricky, I’m not your maid- my, are you even listening? "</p><p> </p><p>"I hear you loud and clear, Fran, but do you know how hard it was to sew this guy’s eyelids? I’ve never even done sewing before, and you didn’t want to teach me. You know how to sew and you just decided not to! "</p><p> </p><p>"That’s because you totally would sew his eyelids, you daft little murder gremlin! “</p><p> </p><p>“Well I still did it, didn’t I? You just made it harder for the both of us. "</p><p> </p><p>"Well you didn’t make it easier by taking on a new hobby of gore couture, Mr. Goldsworth. Couldn’t you just tone down on the drama? He’s dead, that’s all that matters! "</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Ms. We-Can’t-Leave-A-Single-Trace. Having known me for so many years, I really thought you knew that drama is my middle name. "</p><p> </p><p>“Well if you want to keep doing this murdering gig, you MIGHT want to not leave traces??? Fancy spending the best years of your life behind bars? “ </p><p> </p><p>“No, but I know you’d always have my back. “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re insufferable. “ </p><p> </p><p>“Love you too Fran, “ Ricky sent a playful wink in his friend’s direction. The latter sighed and facepalmed. </p><p> </p><p>Francesca Norris, Senior Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Side hobby: covering a certain serial killer’s tracks. She’s pretty sure she’s landed on quite the troublesome murder enthusiast, but what is a childhood friend to do? </p><p> </p><p>“Congratulations on your ninth kill, Mr. White Wolf. “</p><p> </p><p>“Please don’t call me that. “</p><p> </p><p>“Hahahahaha, I knew it would throw you off. But hey, you are quite the accomplished killer now. Ever considered a toast on your tenth? You do deserve it. “</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe… Depends on where I’m at in my list, “ Ricky stared pensively into the void, his hands resting on top of the steering wheel. “How’s work, by the way?” </p><p> </p><p>“Pretty good if you ask me. Got some intel on the commies, played around with some files from the big bosses. Did you know they are actually trying to fire homosexuals from the bureau? Unbelievable. I burned all the evidence I could find. Serves them right for being close-minded. “ </p><p> </p><p>“Power lesbian agent Norris back at it again. I’m pretty sure you could take down the world if you wanted. “</p><p> </p><p>“Well I could say the same for you, Mr. Goldsworth. Speaking of which, you might want to watch out for a new pair of eyes, “ the FBI agent warned. </p><p> </p><p>“Why, Horsley’s finally lost it this time? “</p><p> </p><p>“She went missing from the city for three hours yesterday, and then came back. This is very unusual of her. And, she’s been tailing me less lately. I suspect she’s got a new fancy hire from out of town, or at least some sort of new trick up her slee- “ </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>CRASH! </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The time: 2:36 PM. The date: March 13th, 1951. </p><p> </p><p>26 years old Ricky Goldsworth’s whole body was aching. His lollipop stick broke and he almost choked on the candy that once brought him joy. His ears were ringing from the loud blaring sound of car horns. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth was fuming. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t even remember what came before the impact. He knew he was talking to Fran about some miscellaneous things. They were probably joking about some work stuff again. </p><p> </p><p>All Ricky knew was that some monumental imbecile had just crashed into the side of his car. It was by no means a cheap car, you know? A PORSCHE, for fuck’s sake! Who the hell did this dim-wit buffoon think he was? </p><p> </p><p>Ricky heard a faint groan next to him. At least Francesca’s alive, he thought. He shot a glance out of the window and noticed a black car, equally damaged but abysmally unequal in value. Said car’s door swung wide open and out came a tall, lanky figure rushing towards Ricky. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my God, I am so sorry, are you people okay? “ the tall man called out. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky glared intensely at the brown-haired stranger. This was a walking lamp post donning a worn out cheap trench coat, unshaven stubbles and unruly hair. Had he not been so unkempt, he might have been an attractive person. But for the Porsche driver, it was the least of his concerns. He rolled down his now shattered window and yelled:</p><p><br/>“What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have golf balls for eyes? “</p><p> </p><p>“I am terribly sorry, please just tell me if both of you are alright! “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, we are alive alright. But you see, this is a PORSCHE. Do you have any idea how much it costs? I’m going to sue you, and I will make sure you’ll never see the light of financial stability again, you miserable brainless schmuck! “</p><p> </p><p>The tall stranger stopped dead in his tracks. He eyed Ricky, then studied Ricky’s car. His eyes narrowed. Francesca, who seemed to have seen something behind the man judging from her wide-eyed look, tried to defuse her volatile friend: “C’mon Ricky, he’s not worth your time, I’ll have your dad get you a new one, yeah?” </p><p> </p><p>Ricky was having none of it. </p><p> </p><p>“No, bastard needs to get what he deserves! “ </p><p> </p><p>“You know what, I take my apology back, “ the stranger retorted. “You filthy rich people deserve it. Sue me! “</p><p> </p><p>“Why you piece of- “</p><p> </p><p>“Both of you stop, “ a familiar female voice interjected. It wasn't Fran's; Ricky instantly knew that. Cool, composed, without a hint of doubt in its inflections. </p><p> </p><p>Holly Horsley. District Attorney for the city of Chicago. In other words, the White Wolf killer's mortal enemy. </p><p> </p><p>“We meet again, Horsley, “ Ricky spat. </p><p> </p><p>“We do, “ Holly returned the hostile tone, not missing a beat. “I heard you plan on suing this fine gentleman for your shiny little ride. “ </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I do. And what of it? “</p><p> </p><p>“You have my formal apologies for what happened to your car, “ Holly stated flatly, her ire vanished as quickly as it came. “I take this as my responsibility, since this tall lad does work for me. I hope you forgive us for the little incident, for if you do intend to go through with your words, I will make sure you never win your case. You know I am a woman of my words, Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>There was not a shadow of a stutter in her voice. Ricky Goldsworth was sure he was about to burst a vein in his head, right then and there. It took him everything to not retort to the lawyer, but Fran did remind him that it was in his best interest to not go against this woman in court. When it came to law, Holly Horsley was a fish in the sea, and not even a gold medal olympic athlete could outswim her. Unfortunately for Ricky Goldsworth, suing this tall idiotic man would equate to suing Holly Horsley, and no one had ever gotten a single penny out of suing Holly Horsley. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky begrudgingly relented. Oh, boy, is his next kill going to see colours. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine, have it your way. At least get someone to tow my car. “</p><p> </p><p>Horsley agreed. “Come on, let’s go, Tinsley, “ she whispered. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky and Francesca instantly glanced at each other, eyes widening. It didn’t matter that the district attorney did not intend for the words to land in their ears. It didn’t matter that the pair walked off unknowingly into the distance. Hell, it didn’t even matter that Ricky’s car just got totalled with no indemnity from the guy who did the totalling. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley, dubbed The Sharp Eye, had been assigned to the White Wolf case. If that wasn’t a colossal headache that just landed on Ricky Goldsworth’s profusely sweating forehead, then he didn’t know what would be. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i was sitting by myself thinking about how ricky and tinsley would meet then i thought of the glorious cargument the ghoul bois had months ago (ref top 5 beatdown pixar films)<br/>and i just thought it'd be really funny if tinsley totalled ricky's very posh car as a first meeting<br/>so here we are<br/>you're welcome</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Media Circus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“… we cannot disclose the details yet, but we strongly suspect that the death of John McFishe was the work of the White Wolf Killer. “</p><p> </p><p>The packed room could scarcely contain the massive uproar that tore through countless flashes and clicks of cameras combined. The press room was already heavy with heat from the sheer number of people in it, but now it was just chaos. </p><p> </p><p>"BASTARDS DESERVED IT! "</p><p> </p><p>"YOU GUYS HAVE DONE JACK! "</p><p> </p><p>"ALL HAIL THE WHITE WOLF! "</p><p> </p><p>An egg flew around and splattered right onto a disgruntled Banjo. The poor officer hardly had the time to react to the avian projectile that had just landed on his unwilling head before a rotten tomato followed suit. He shakenly resumed reading the statement before him on the podium: </p><p> </p><p>“a-and on beh-half of the Chicago Police Department, we solemnly s-swear that we- that we will get to the end of this case. I-if you give us t-time, we will find the White Wolf Killer. “</p><p> </p><p>"Chief Officer McClintock, what do you have to say about the brutal murder of Elizabeth O'Connor? Don’t you think that Martin O’Connor got it too easy from law enforcement? ”</p><p> </p><p>"Chief Officer, anything you would like to tell the families of the Chelsea Stalker's victims? How come you still have the audacity to come tell us about right or wrong? “</p><p> </p><p>"Chief Officer McClintock, would you agree that the White Wolf Killer has done more for the people than police has in the past five years? "</p><p> </p><p>District attorney Holly Horsley, who stood right behind the police chief who was currently under the fire, rolled her eyes. This press conference was nothing new to the investigating team, and yet it was arguably one of C.C. Tinsley's worst nightmares. </p><p> </p><p>Fortunately for the private detective, the Chicago DA kept her word. In fact, Tinsley was watching the whole circus from the comfort of the audience, right in the back corner of the room. Hidden. Unknown. </p><p> </p><p>Perfect spot to carefully study the room. Guess he didn’t have to worry about prying eyes, after all. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley observed the room. Beyond the almost comically agitated front rows, the rest of the room was actually relatively tame, he thought. The detective looked to his right, and caught the glance of the man sitting next to him. The man sported an ironed grey suit, neatly combed hair and a trimmed beard, with a few peppered white strands telling the stories of years flown by. The stranger offered Tinsley a warm smile. The detective returned the smile, then turned his head towards the podium once again. Banjo McClintock had retreated to the back of the stage and the DA had taken his place, expertly tackling the incessant questioning of the crowd. Journalists and citizens swarmed to ask her for comments on the victims of various killers in the city, but at least local produce had ceased to fly around the scene. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley looked to the crowd once again. His gaze suddenly fixated on a certain short figure amongst the audience. He knew that guy. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“By the way Ms. Hors- Holly, who was that guy I ran into? You seemed to know each other. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Now that he had more time to observe, this was possibly one of the most beautiful men Tinsley ever had the opportunity to lay his eyes on. A caramel smooth skin that might as well have been kissed by the sun. Perfectly orderly, jet black hair straighter than Tinsley’s back. Sultry dark eyes that would not hesitate to mix pleasure with adventures much more sinister. Tight white shirt tucked into a pair of cuffed beige pants that really left no room for imagination to roam free. This man was a real-life Michelangelo, and the detective could not help but gaze at those peach-coloured lips, opened ever so slightly… </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Oh, that… That’s Ricky Goldsworth, “ Holly gritted through her teeth. “The only son of the Mayor, Robert Goldsworth. He can be quite the spoiled brat. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She paused, as though she caught herself off guard. Then the cool, composed tone resumed. “I’ll get you another car, but I would prefer you not crash it again this time, alright? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The beautiful man, whom Tinsley recognized to be Ricky Goldsworth (and also the guy whose car he totalled the previous day), gave a simple nod to a much older, but equally well-dressed man next to him. Goldsworth got out of his seat, and headed towards a group of women who seemed overly enthusiastic about his presence. The detective could see the mayor’s son was effortless conversing with the ladies, occasionally winking at some of them. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley rapidly shook off his almost admiring trance. Who was he kidding? Checking out a rich brat? Men of his kind only cared about money and honeys.</p><p> </p><p>Plus, something about Holly Horsley’s strained interaction with Ricky Goldsworth, along with the dark aura behind the latter’s eyes, didn’t add up. That was not the demeanour of a woman irritated with a simple brat, and behind the thin veil of social pleasantries, those eyes were hinting at a much darker tale. Twelve years as a private eye could at least tell the detective that much. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the man who sat next to Ricky Goldsworth stood up and walked slowly onto the podium. The shouts soon dimmed down to murmurs, then the entire room grew silent. The man cleared his throat, then addressed the audience in a very quiet and calm voice. </p><p> </p><p>“This concludes question time for today. Whether or not you agree with the police department, this press conference is over. I thank you all for your valuable time and support for the city; granted, we are going through a bit of a rough patch in recent months, but we will pull through. That’s a promise from Robert Goldsworth. Thank you all again. “</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you Mr. Mayor! Finally a man of common sense amongst these clowns! “ a journalist exclaimed. </p><p> </p><p>The crowd began to scatter, as though no one had almost threatened to burn down the police department just minutes ago. Tinsley got up from his seat and began to make his way towards the podium. On his way there, he could hear passing exchanges between men, women and children of Chicago, all with a common pattern: police should let the White Wolf Killer roam free. </p><p> </p><p>What a strange world we live in, where citizens root for a serial killer, the private eye chuckled half-heartedly. </p><p> </p><p>Holly was just a few steps away when Tinsley felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around, only to find the grey-haired stranger that sat next to him earlier. </p><p> </p><p>“May I have a word with you, good sir? “</p><p> </p><p>“Yes? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Pardon me if I am making ludicrous assumptions, but you seemed to be gazing at the crowd a lot earlier. Are you by any chance, one of the detectives working on the White Wolf case? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s eyes widened. He thought he could watch a crowd discreetly without getting noticed. The detective could feel the sweat in his palms, his eyes rapidly flickering towards Holly. The DA was still conversing with McClintock with a mildly exasperated look. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry sir, I hope I didn’t startle you too much. You need not worry if you are. I am actually rooting for you, “ the stranger continued, his gaze unfaltering in meeting the detective’s panicked eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. “With all due respect, sir, who may you be? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh me? I am but a doctor working at the local hospital. I’ve been doing so for the past twenty years. You may call me Dr. Fear, detective…? “</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley. C.C. Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley! Pleasure to meet you, detective. I apologize for being so forthcoming earlier, it’s just that it’s not that hard to notice if another person isn’t throwing insults at the chief officer, you know? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I guess… “ Tinsley met the doctor’s gaze again. He does seem, after all, like a well-educated man. “I’m just surprised to see someone in this community support the police’s work, considering how this conference went down. “ </p><p> </p><p>“That is not a wrong assumption at all, detective, “ Dr. Fear pulled Tinsley further away from the remaining journalists, and spoke lowly in a graver tone. “Truth is, most people in this town are frustrated to see their neighbours and friends wronged by a parade of criminals. We’re not known to other states as Murder Town USA for nothing, but it has been particularly difficult in the past few years. Robberies, drug traffic and murders are at an all-time high, even for Chicago. While this has nothing to do with police competence, as their relative workload is considerably higher due to the staggering crime rate, that’s not what the people believe. They need an authority figure to blame, and that just so happened to be the police department. The White Wolf came at the peak of public dissatisfaction, and fulfilled the darkest desires of citizens who would never dare punch a man back. “</p><p> </p><p>The doctor glanced around, then continued: “But between you and me, I’ve been called to help some of the victims, as well as their surviving families. I’ve seen faces carved beyond recognition, bodies tormented until they were numb to physical pain, and inconsolable children who will never live to experience a proper father figure. Some of the victims had committed heinous crimes, but no matter how unforgivable their sins are, no one deserves to be desecrated in such a horrible fashion. It’s not a matter of justice, detective; it’s about unnecessary human suffering. The White Wolf is not as the media portrays him to be. And I think he should be tried just like the other criminals. He, and especially him, should not get a free pass, for his acts are equally, if not more, reprehensible than that of his victims. “</p><p> </p><p>“You are quite the well-spoken man, doctor. I have to admit, I am quite impressed and relieved that someone sees the case with a wisdom such as yours. “</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t blame my fellow citizens either, since they haven’t seen what I have. What I’m trying to say, detective, is that I saw something in you earlier. You were almost analyzing everything in the room earlier, not missing a single element. It was quite fascinating to observe; I’ve never really seen a detective in action. I’m honoured to have witnessed your work today, and I am certain you will achieve great heights in solving this case. “ </p><p> </p><p>Dr. Fear smiled warmly, then paused for a second. He met Tinsley’s gaze with a serious expression again. “Pardon my many assumptions again detective, and correct me if I am wrong, but I deal with a fair amount of people in my line of work, so I am quite familiar with situations like these. I can see some yearning and sadness in your eyes, detective. The kind only a lonely man could know. Not to say that you are not well surrounded, detective, but it is easy to forget that beyond our bodies, our soul also needs to be nurtured and cared for. I know I am but a passing stranger sharing similar world views, but if you ever need a buddy in this big scary city… “</p><p> </p><p>The doctor fumbled in his pocket, reaching for something. He took Tinsley’s hand, and placed a business card in the private investigator’s palm.</p><p> </p><p>“… you can always give me a call. “ </p><p> </p><p>“Why, if it isn’t our beloved Doctor Fear! I was looking for you everywhere, doctor. My grandmother finally woke up! It’s a miracle! My family is infinitely thankful for everything you do, doctor! ” </p><p> </p><p>A young man was running towards Dr. Fear and greeting him with tremendous respect. The doctor smiled at Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>“Now, I believe you have more pressing work to attend to, detective, so I won’t halt your activities further. It was a pleasure to converse with you. “</p><p> </p><p>“I could say the same. Thank you, Dr. Fear, “ the detective waved, then headed back towards the podium. Most of the crowd had already left and his client was already calling for him. </p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley! “ </p><p> </p><p>“Ms. Horsley, “ Tinsley greeted as he shoved the business card into his pocket, not losing his grip on the card. </p><p> </p><p>“For the nth time Tinsley, just call me Holly. Was everything okay back there? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced back at Dr. Fear, and thought of the conversation he just had. He quickly shook his head and turned his attention back to Holly. </p><p> </p><p>“It was, thank you for allowing me to stay in the back, really. I can’t imagine what you guys had to deal with over here. “</p><p> </p><p>“Pleasure is mine, I told you I’m a woman of my words, Tinsley. But don’t worry about what happened here, we’re used to it; as long as we respond diplomatically, they will not set the building on fire. “</p><p> </p><p>“That is… concerning. “</p><p> </p><p>“You must be new here. “</p><p> </p><p>“I am, “ Tinsley laughed. “Actually, it reminds me, I have a favour to ask of you. “</p><p> </p><p>“Ask away, detective. “</p><p> </p><p>“I would like to return to McFishe’s apartment again. I think I may be able to collect additional information with a second visit. “</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take much convincing before the Chicago lawyer, with a satisfied smile, handed a copy of the apartment keys to the detective, who was now on his way back to the crime scene. However, the private investigator failed to noticed a curious, yet dangerous glint in the eyes of a certain secret agent, watching him from a window across the street. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Detective Brain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A strong gust of wind was blowing as Tinsley stepped out of the car. He fumbled briefly with the keys before locking the vehicle, then walked quietly towards the residential building. </p><p> </p><p>Time to work. </p><p> </p><p>First thing in order: find out more background information on the victim. </p><p> </p><p>Officer McClintock did mention that John McFishe did not have a criminal record, even though the White Wolf Killer had targeted exclusively criminals and mostly murderers. Yet, the White Wolf’s scented signature was at the scene. There was the possibility that fake evidence had been planted after the death occurred. However, the card was unanimously identified to be authentic (ruling out copycats), and the only person in possession of all eight cards, other than the killer themselves, was Holly Horsley, who now had nine cards in hand. It was unlikely that Holly Horsley would go on such lengths to sabotage her flawless career and the police department. </p><p> </p><p>Having no criminal record did not mean having no history of crime. A very stealthy criminal could evade the law. Not to say that McFishe was a criminal, but Tinsley needed to assess the victim’s environment and history. </p><p> </p><p>And so, instead of walking into John McFishe’s deserted apartment, the private investigator knocked on what appeared to be the building landlord’s office door. The door swung open and revealed a short, bald man.</p><p> </p><p>“Yea??? Who’re ya?? “ the man asked in a nasal voice, staring straight into Tinsley’s eyes.  </p><p> </p><p>“Good afternoon sir, my name is Arthur Woolridge and I am a private investigator hired to investigate the death of one of your tenants. I would like to ask you a few questions, if that’s not too much of a bother for you, “ Tinsley explained. As a private eye, the detective often went by alternate names to preserve his anonymity, in case his interviewees were involved in the case. </p><p> </p><p>“Are ya here to frame me as the serial killer?? If so, ya can kiss my ass, clown shoes!!! “ </p><p> </p><p>The man quickly turned back and grabbed the doorknob. He was about to slam the door shut when the detective blocked his way. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not going to frame you, sir! I just want to know more about your tenant’s background, please! “ Tinsley pleaded. </p><p> </p><p>But the landlord wouldn’t listen. Both men pushed against the door, and eventually the laws of physics won. Tinsley stumbled into the office and fell onto the floor, his weight overpowering that of the shorter man. He tried to readjust himself and get up when he noticed that Dr. Fear’s business card fell out of his pocket. The detective reached for the card when a hand picked it up. </p><p> </p><p>“Shoulda told me ya were the doc’s buddy. Any friend of Dr. Fear is a friend of mine, “ the landlord muttered before helping Tinsley back up and handing him the business card. “Come on in kiddo. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley nervously glanced around the office. The landlord, Xavier, reached for a bottle of whisky in the cupboard and joined the detective in the only other seat of the room. </p><p> </p><p>“Ya want some?” </p><p> </p><p>“No thank you, I’ll pass. “</p><p> </p><p>Xavier poured some whisky into a glass, and downed the whole thing with one big gulp. </p><p> </p><p>“So. Ya had some questions. “</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, as I was saying… I am currently investigating the death of one of your tenants- “</p><p> </p><p>“HAH well if he’s dead, he’s an EX-tenant! “</p><p> </p><p>“… Ex-tenant, pardon me. His name is John McFishe. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yea that guy! I liked that fella, he was always on time for rent. Unlike the rest of this damn building. People here are dirt poor, ya know? “</p><p> </p><p>So this may be a district struck by poverty. Noted, Tinsley thought. </p><p> </p><p>“Except maybe for when he lost his keys a few weeks ago. Can ya believe that? “</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know Mr. McFishe’s daily activities, sir? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, just call me Xavier, kiddo. John worked some day gig, prolly. No clue what he really did. Came out at 8, went back at 5. Sometimes he’d smooch his lady, if ya know what I mean. “</p><p> </p><p>Xavier wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Tinsley ignored the comment and pressed on. </p><p> </p><p>“Was he known for any sort of shady activities that may have led to his death? “</p><p> </p><p>“No! Weird, maybe, but shady, no. Ya wanna see shady, ya shoulda seen his neighbour. Helluva shady fella, he was a detective, or an assistant detective- look, I don’t know this stuff, alright? All detectives are crooks! “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley frowned slightly. Xavier noticed his guest’s discomfort and the awkwardness of the situation dawned on him. He cleared his throat, and continued.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, yer a private guy, that might be ok, but ya have to admit police is corrupted. Not a single good egg in that basket. Pretty sure that fella got murked by the mob, he had it comin’, I tell ya! “</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have any information on this neighbour guy you speak of? Did he have any connection to Mr. McFishe? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no he didn’t. Called himself Mayer, Mayor? Might as well go as Mayonnaise if he’s gonna sound like an idiot. I think he snitched on a drug cartel or something like that… Let me tell ya one thing, kiddo, is that ya don’t mess with the mob! “</p><p> </p><p>“Understood. And any chance you might know McFishe’s family and friends? “</p><p> </p><p>“No. I’ve seen his lady a couple times because they smoochin’, but other than that, fish was probably a recluse. I’ve never seen another visitor around for that guy. Never seen it! “ </p><p> </p><p>It seemed like the landlord provided all of the information he knew; Tinsley did not want to drag this very awkward meeting for much longer, so he got up. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I think this is all the information I needed to know. Thank you very much for your time, Xavier, and you can rest assured that our conversation today will not be made known to anyone else. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no worries, any friend of the doc is a friend of mine! Yer really something else, kiddo. Maybe yer not a crooked detective like the others. What’s yer name again, Archie, Albert? Ay, let me know if ya know a guy who wants to rent, yea? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley gently closed the door behind him, and exhaled. At least he gathered some info, he thought. </p><p> </p><p>As previously mentioned, McFishe had a fiancée who lived out of town. Based on what Xavier said, the man did not have other surviving family members or friends. He wasn’t involved in shady business and worked a day job despite living in a less fortunate neighbourhood. So far, not very indicative of a hidden life of crime. </p><p> </p><p>And then there was his neighbour, Mayer/Mayor. Xavier mentioned he was in the field. One could think the White Wolf had an axe to grind with this guy, but several sources point to it being a mafia job. And, the subtle nature of Mayer’s death didn’t sound too much like the dramatic White Wolf’s style. </p><p> </p><p>Not off to a great start. Tinsley frowned. He took the elevator and headed towards McFishe’s apartment. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>The room was still surrounded by barricade tape. The body was gone, transported to the morgue. Blood remained splattered around the couch, dried and darkened by time. Everything else was in the same place as it was before. The television was still turned on. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley carefully lifted the tape and stepped into the apartment. The same faint scent of carnations danced around the air, waltzing with the nauseating, metallic smell of blood. </p><p> </p><p>"... and that concludes our afternoon briefing on John McFishe’s death. This is the Chicago news channel, stay tuned for more breaking news. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced at the television. Perhaps the TV program that played during the murder could produce some leads? This guy had, after all, a flair for the dramatic. The detective scribbled "channel 4" onto a notepad, making a mental note to check the channel's program later. </p><p> </p><p>Then, he rummaged through drawers for more clues. </p><p> </p><p>One of them contained a pack of business cards labelled, "JOHN MCFISHE, SALES REPRESENTATIVE / DUNDAS MILLER PAPER COMPANY. " Office worker, Tinsley noted.</p><p> </p><p>Another revealed a bunch of roughly folded dress shirts and pants. McFishe did not have a closet in his apartment. </p><p> </p><p>Overall, the victim did not seem to own many items in his household. Couch, dinner table, television, a set of drawers, a bed. The walls were naked except for the single framed photo of McFishe with a woman in her 30s, both dressed plainly as well. Tinsley noticed the sparkling blue ring on the lady's ring finger, heavy in its significance. It did not seem like a cheap piece of jewelry either, but one could assume McFishe really went out on his marriage proposal. </p><p> </p><p>Other than that, there really wasn't much else. The gruesome state in which the White Wolf Killer's ninth victim was found largely overshadowed the simplicity of the apartment itself. As far as C.C. Tinsley was concerned, John McFishe was a clean man who loved his fiancée dearly. Granted, there may still be elements missing from the picture, but McFishe was not a high profile criminal like the other victims were suspected or confirmed to be. McFishe's death felt somewhat... personal. Tinsley couldn't really pinpoint it. Other than his fiancée, McFishe wasn't much of a social man. It was, for the time being, but a hunch. </p><p> </p><p>--- </p><p> </p><p>7:03 PM. Tinsley steps out of the apartment, carefully circumventing the barricade tape that surrounded it. </p><p> </p><p>There weren't many clues at the apartment, but enough to guide his further investigations. Between this and the morning media circus, the detective would much rather prefer the former option, safe and away from public eyes filled with judgment and contempt in equal parts. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley left the apartment building, and headed towards his car. He couldn't wait to be home with Buddy; the little guy must be really hungry by now.</p><p> </p><p>The detective's internal plans of cooking his companion a delicious meal were quickly interrupted by a muffled thud behind him. He turned back just in time to see a rope and hook fall from the third floor into the darkness. </p><p> </p><p>That was John McFishe's apartment. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly; a shadowy figure emerged from the bushes that surrounded the residential block. Tinsley could not discern this person's gender due to the darkness, but could feel something deeply wrong. Whoever this person was, they could be connected to McFishe and/or the White Wolf, if not the murderer themselves. </p><p> </p><p>The detective made a run for it as the figure bolted into the numerous alleyways between buildings. Tinsley was no trained man by all means: it took just short of three blocks before the man who was 80% legs started huffing and puffing, his heart about to jump out of his ribcage and his shirt drenched in sweat. Nevertheless, he pressed on. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley eventually lost sight of the elusive figure. He had lost count of the streets he'd crossed, of the corners he'd turned. He was certain he was now miles away from his car, lost and frustrated. So much for catching clues... He should really go feed Buddy now. </p><p> </p><p>The detective began to walk back, wherever back was. At least the view was lovely, thick vines lacing Victorian fences under the hauntingly beautiful moonlight. Tinsley realized he had run so far that he even changed neighbourhoods. Apartments turned into single homes, then into a mansion of all things? The wealth disparity in this town was jarring. Although, Tinsley expected nothing less from Murder Town USA. </p><p> </p><p>"You must be detective C.C. Tinsley, am I correct? "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley jumped at the sound of the voice. It was a young man's voice, sweet as honey and smooth as butter, with a raspy hint that could make any man or woman swoon. In a different context, the voice would've been very attractive, but its seemingly innocuous and oddly familiar charm signified nothing but danger to the detective, clearly unsettled by the mere utterance of his name by a stranger. </p><p> </p><p>At this moment, Tinsley was certain he was miles away from his car, lost, frustrated, and probably minutes away from being robbed, kidnapped, murdered, or any combination of the above. </p><p> </p><p>He turned around to see the man behind the eerily alluring voice, and was greeted with a sharp, ear-to-ear smile from a pretty face he'd seen just hours ago. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth. Son of the mayor of Chicago. Also the rich guy whose fancy car he destroyed just about a day ago. </p><p> </p><p>"No I'm not, I'm Brad Pistachio Thespin. Not a detective, no. Who's C.C. Tinsley? "</p><p> </p><p>The Goldsworth boy chuckled lightly. </p><p> </p><p>"No need to hide, detective, I know your name. Horsley told me. I just saw you running around the block, you look exhausted. Fancy a break at my place? I got coffee and tea. "</p><p> </p><p>The shorter man pointed towards the gilded gates behind him. His dark eyes stared straight into Tinsley's, eyelids drooping ever so slightly as if he was going to wink at the detective anytime. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley wasn't sure if it was fear or something else, but he really felt like he didn't have much of a choice here. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter was a lot of detecting work, but tins and ricky will get more interaction next chapter ;)<br/>i have to admit, the landlord was a lot of fun to write<br/>and shout out to brad pistachio, what a dude</p><p>upload schedule tba soon!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. You Don't Know Shit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oh, it was a mansion alright. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was used to being able to reach the ceiling standing in most rooms. But the gothic vault in the Goldsworth residence was so high it could probably reach the big man upstairs at this point. Golden framed portraits of individuals the detective assumed to be members of the mayor’s family adorned the neatly decorated walls of the manor’s hallways. The floor was lined with silken tapestry that put the detective’s entire collection of linens to shame. </p><p> </p><p>The mayor’s mansion was royalty. Ricky Goldsworth’s office was… surprisingly not that. Besides a white marble sculpture of a horse head behind a polished wooden desk, this was a relatively understated room with fairly muted earth tones. A faint, but familiar flowery scent lingered in the air; Tinsley couldn’t exactly identify the scent, but it was pleasant and calming. </p><p> </p><p>Everything was arranged neatly, down to the tiniest detail. Books were stored on a library shelf, organized by the colour of each cover. Glassware (cups, bottles, etc) was displayed in order of size in a single cupboard behind the desk. Curiously, only a single lime-tinted glass vial sat on the library shelves. Ink pens were meticulously placed in an open wooden case on the desk, which was lit by a single lamp. Even the chair on which Tinsley sat had not even a speck of dust on it. </p><p> </p><p>But maybe this was precisely what threw off the detective who was used to hectic office spaces. Even the one Holly offered him was now filled with scatted case files across Tinsley’s desk and the floor. Rich people and their free time to organize things, he muttered under his breath. </p><p> </p><p>“Coffee or tea, detective? “</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll just have some green tea, please. “</p><p> </p><p>“Which kind? I’ve got jasmine, sencha, hōjicha- oh and I’ve even got marigold- “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth glanced at his guest whose face now expressed nothing but confusion. Ricky chuckled. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll get you some jasmine green tea. I’m not much of a tea person myself, but that’s one of my favourite ones if you ask me. “</p><p> </p><p>The Goldsworth boy poured some jasmine green tea into a cup, and handed it to the detective before brewing some coffee for himself. Tinsley warily eyed the highly fragrant drink, then observed his host as the latter poured some milk into his cup, added three sugar cubes and began to stir the mixture as he sat down at his desk. The shorter man may have been attractive from afar, but now that the detective had a closer view, he couldn’t help but stare at those muscled arms as they moved around gracefully. In Tinsley’s book, it was probably illegal to be this pretty, but the detective had more pressing concerns. </p><p> </p><p>“I believe I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Ricky Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>“I know, Holly told me. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. I guess she would talk about me behind my back, “ Ricky mused. </p><p> </p><p>“Look, Goldsworth, I don’t know whatever relationship you have with Holly, and I’m not here for that either- “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh no, don’t worry about yesterday! I was about to offer you a formal apology for my outburst as well. That was uncalled for, I admit. “</p><p> </p><p>“… Oh. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley let out a breath, and gazed at the cup he was holding. He then took a sip of the tea. Goldsworth was right; jasmine tea tasted heavenly. The private investigator closed his eyes and enjoyed his sip, before noticing his host’s satisfied smile. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m happy to see you’re enjoying it, detective. “</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for the tasty beverage, Mr. Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>“Pleasure’s mine, detective. I got it from a tea shop just two blocks away from here. It’s actually not that pricey; my mother introduced me to it. Lovely florist next door as well. “</p><p> </p><p>Guess he doubted the Goldsworth boy too soon. Perhaps this beautiful man wasn’t as malicious as the detective had initially thought. Tinsley thought he should probably get going though; he really didn’t want to leave Buddy alone for too long. </p><p> </p><p>“It was nice chatting with you, Mr. Goldsworth, but it is getting late and I need to- “</p><p> </p><p>“I have heard about you, Detective C.C. Tinsley, “ the shorter man suddenly interjected with a change of tone that sent a shiver down the detective’s spine. Tinsley met Ricky Goldsworth’s gaze; the enigmatic look that suggested deeper sinister tales was once again back in those veiled dark eyes. The Goldsworth heir stood up and began slowly pacing around the room, his eyes not leaving the detective for even a second. Tinsley swallowed. </p><p> </p><p>“The Sharp Eye. The man who shortens court cases. I may not be a man of law, detective, but I do have friends who work in your field. I know you’re trying to catch the White Wolf Killer. “</p><p> </p><p>“I guess it does make sense that the mayor’s son would have sufficient connections to know such a thing. I’m just hoping it doesn’t mean rumour has spread around town. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, do not worry! I only heard it from a friend, detective. She works for law enforcement. But I did bring this up for a reason. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley looked up to his host quizzically. </p><p> </p><p>“You see, as the son of the man who runs this town, I am quite concerned for the well-being of my fellow citizens. You may be new here, detective, but the city of Chicago has been plagued by an onslaught of crime in the past few years. The people are tired of losing their family and friends to drugs, murderers, you name it. I’m sure you’ve seen the news, but there’s a reason the White Wolf Killer gets a better reputation than the police department these days. Crime rate has been dropping since the killings started. Sure, it may not be ethical nor legal, but it’s answering the citizens’ injustices, AND alleviating police burden. “ </p><p> </p><p>The Goldsworth heir paused to sip his coffee. Tinsley noticed the glazed serious look in the man’s eyes. Goldsworth maintained eye contact as he continued, a small smile beginning to form at the corner of his lips. </p><p> </p><p>“What I’m trying to say is that he may be a serial killer, but he’s helping my city, and I would like for it to continue that way. So I have an offer for you, detective Tinsley. I’ll pay you double the amount of however much Horsley’s giving you for this entire case, and in exchange you’ll stop investigating the White Wolf. Or, perhaps better… “</p><p> </p><p>The shorter man slowly approached Tinsley, each step quickening the detective’s heartbeat. Ricky lifted his unwilling guest’s chin with his index finger as he gazed softly into those earthly brown eyes. He noticed the latter’s eyes flicker between his lips and his eyes with a look full of want and desire. The Goldsworth boy smirked, satisfied. Flirting with people had always been a piece of cake for the man who might as well have been born a sex god. He was used to men and women checking him out, some gazing at him more hungrily than others. It usually got Ricky the things he wanted. The detective was subtle, but he was no different. And in this case, it could make things infinitely easier for Ricky Goldsworth if he could get Sharp Eye out of the city. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky approached Tinsley’s ostensibly reddened ear and heard the detective’s hitched breath. The younger man began to whisper seductively: </p><p> </p><p>“I know you desire me, detective. I’ve seen that kind of look before, and I can see you look at me that way too. If you agree to our little deal, I can offer you everything you’ve ever dreamt of. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley couldn’t help but shiver at those entrancing words. He could get lost in those mesmerizing dark eyes any day, kiss these tantalizing lips anytime, or even… No, he wouldn’t dare even think of it. But by all means, the sultry man made a highly enticing offer no man or woman could possibly refuse. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you say, detective Tinsley? Do we have a deal? “ Ricky Goldsworth purred sweetly into the detective’s ear, and pulled back to meet the taller man’s gaze with a deceptively suggestive look. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley pushed him back and shook his head, a hint of melancholy in his perceptive chocolate brown eyes. Highly enticing offer, yes, but this was not a life Tinsley could partake in. </p><p> </p><p>“With all due respect, Mr. Goldsworth… I do not think we share the same beliefs. I am a man of justice, and I’ve worked this field for over a decade. I was hired by the district attorney to crack the White Wolf case, and I will honour her request until the case is solved. I understand you are concerned for your city, Mr. Goldsworth. You are welcome to hire me for separate cases, but you cannot ask me to step down from one. C.C. Tinsley does not abandon his cases. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley studied his host’s expressions. Shock turned into disbelief, then turned into anger. Ricky Goldsworth’s voice became more frantic. </p><p> </p><p>“Would you rather have the White Wolf kill off eleven murderers, or have the Grim Raper murder thirty innocents? If you’re a man of justice, why can’t you see that? “</p><p> </p><p>“Those thirty people were already dead, but the eleven murderers weren’t; they could’ve been behind bars… “</p><p> </p><p>“But they weren’t! And that’s why people are frustrated, detective! The law is failing us! “</p><p> </p><p>“That doesn’t mean John McFishe deserved to be stabbed twenty times, have his throat slit open and eyelids sown shut! “ Tinsley finally snapped, unable to contain his own anger. “Do you even have an idea how much these people suffer? It’s not an easy death, Goldsworth! The White Wolf is a cold-hearted murderer who puts his family to shame! He’s not above the law just because he targets murderers! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth was taken aback. But then, his widened eyes slowly narrowed back to a dangerous glint. In the most eerily quiet voice, he asked: </p><p> </p><p>“What did you just say about the White Wolf? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could hear the danger behind the seemingly innocent question. Twenty-four hours of interacting with this short-fused man taught Tinsley that Ricky Goldsworth was a ticking time-bomb disguised as a fun-loving Greek god. But something in the detective had snapped. He was tired. He’d been out too late. He had no intentions to quit the case. He just wanted to go home and take care of Buddy. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s a murderer, Goldsworth. A sadistic one at that. I can hardly fathom anyone sleeping soundly knowing they’ve committed such heinous crimes. I’m sure his family would be heartbroken to learn the truth. He’s not a city hero, and certainly not a man to be put on a pedestal! “ </p><p> </p><p>“You know jack shit about him! “ Ricky screamed. “You don’t know shit about this city, you’re just a pompous outsider! “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m assuming you know so much more than I do? I’ll tell you what, you’re a rich spoiled brat who cries when someone totals his Porsche and flirts with every passing person! That’s right, I’ve seen your fanclub, Goldsworth, you’re nothing but a whore disguised as a posh mayor’s son! Does your mommy know you bribe detectives for a vigilante killer? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you, you’re just a pretentious sack of limbs! Has anyone told you you stink? Ever heard of basic hygiene? You’re going to regret your words, Sharpie. I’m going to make your life a living hell! “</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll make my life hell? What are you going to do, sue me? You’ve heard Holly yesterday. Or are you the kind to hire the mob to kill me? Is that how Mayer, Mayor died? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened. The shorter man opened his mouth to yell more unsavoury insults at the detective, but stopped himself before he could utter a word. He gritted his teeth and opted for a simple threat. “I might as well if you’re going to entertain absurd ideas like that. “</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t understand, Goldsworth, you never would. Because you lived rich and comfortable your entire life. You claim to know your people, but you’re the kind of rich kid who buys his way in life. You have so much money you’re bored to high heavens, some of us don’t have the time to clean their house like you do! Do you even do anything meaningful in your life, Goldsworth? Or are you just counting golden plates everyday? “ </p><p> </p><p>At this moment, Ricky Goldsworth swore he could’ve murdered Tinsley on the spot. He considered reaching for his special knife that was concealed in his pocket, but refrained from doing so at the last minute. He clenched his fist. </p><p> </p><p>“You know what, “ Ricky hissed at the detective. “Get the fuck out of my house. You’re going to regret everything you said today, mark my words, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“Sure thing, Goldsworth, do your worst. Or should I say, Goldsworst, “ Tinsley mocked as he got up of his seat. He was greeted by Ricky’s coffee mug shattering on the wall next to him. The detective quickly left the room (and the house, for that matter), not before noticing the faint whiff of flowers again. The scent had been masked by the jasmine tea and the coffee’s fragrances. </p><p> </p><p>So much for getting home on time. </p><p> </p><p>--- </p><p> </p><p>11:30 PM. Tinsley slowly opened the door to his apartment as it creaked. He kneeled down to find his furry little friend curled up at the door, soundly asleep. The detective’s former frowned expression softened. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm home. Sorry I'm late, Buddy. "</p><p> </p><p>The little black kitten opened his moon like eyes and purred as his taller owner gently pet his soft fuzzy head. Tinsley smiled as Buddy leaned into his palm. </p><p> </p><p>"I think we've got the guy, little one, I have a strong hunch on this one, " Tinsley whispered as he hung his coat onto a hook and picked up his little companion in his arms. "But enough about work. You deserve a treat. "</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the boys' first heated encounter! hope you enjoyed this chapter (or suffered, that's fine by me too HAHA)<br/>PUBLISHING SCHEDULE!<br/>I'll be posting chapter updates on Mondays and Thursdays. Please don't hesitate to comment or send me feedback, I'd love to hear what you think about the fic :) </p><p>happy new year!!!!!1</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. C.C. Tinsley</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi! just a heads up for this chapter, there will be quite a bit of italics. italicized paragraphs are a flashback in the recent past for ricky. thank you for reading and enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, how did your bribing session with Mr. Sharp Eye go yesterday? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky shot a deathly glare at Francesca. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh. It. Went. Swimmingly. I. Am. So. Glad. This. Bastard. Exists. “ </p><p> </p><p>Francesca couldn’t suppress her laughter. The sarcasm and anger was palpable in her friend’s voice. She uncrossed her legs from Ricky’s desk and got up. </p><p> </p><p>“So it went poorly. What got you so worked up, Golden boy? I thought you said it’d be easy once I lure him to your place? “ the FBI agent asked as she plopped down Ricky’s guest chair. Judging from Goldsworth’s rapidly changing facial expressions, she could tell he was about to have one of <em>those</em> moments again. She rested her head on her hand and braced herself for whatever dramatic novel her fiery friend was about to spurt out. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s- he’s just so… so IRRITATING, you know? He was clearly eyeing me like everyone else, and I could give him all the money in the world so he could buy a decent fucking set of clothes instead of being the fashion disaster that he is! I’ve never seen someone SO UNKEMPT, UNHYGIENIC, and a TOTAL ASSHOLE! He clearly needs the money, but he had this AUDACITY to say no, AND proceed to insult my mother?? He even brought up Mayor, Fran! I knew he was perceptive, but hell, that really caught me off guard. I was about to kill him on the spot, and it took me everything not to expose myself. God, fuck! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky punched the wall in a fit of rage. He paused to catch his panting breath. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no, he didn’t. “</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a goddamn ROAD HAZARD, Fran! He totalled my car and I can’t even sue him because of fucking Horsley! Do you know how infuriating that is? “</p><p> </p><p>“Haha, that’s probably because you told that cursed Anne doll she was just a rag doll the other day. ‘You can’t do shit,’” Francesca jokingly mimicked. Ricky rolled his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off, that’s not why. But seriously, what’s in it for that guy? He’s not even from this city. He’s just a pretentious judgmental duke of limbs! He knows jack shit, how DARE he insult Lucy?? “ </p><p> </p><p>Ricky was fuming. He met his friend’s gaze, the latter seemingly in deep thought. </p><p>“If it didn’t go well, why don’t you just off him? I mean, you could, “ Fran suggested. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky frowned as he closed his eyes, before staring at the secret agent again. “That’s the thing! I can’t, he’s not a criminal, Fran! I don’t just kill random people because they irritate me, you know? You of all people should know that! “ the Goldsworth boy cried. </p><p> </p><p>Francesca raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. “If he deserves to die, then let him die. You’re still going to hold that moral high ground? “</p><p> </p><p>“I will, I have to. He’s a miserable tall prick, and he doesn’t even deserve my blade! I swear Fran, I will make his life a living hell! “ </p><p> </p><p>“If you insist, Ricky. But do consider it; if he arrests you, more innocents will die. And I take it that you’re not exactly a fan of him either, “ the dark-haired woman reasoned. “I’ve got to go to work, but think about it, yeah? “</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth kicked pebbles as he walked down the streets of Chicago. The lilting songs of morning birds and gentle breeze on the thawing snow offered a serene contrast to the young heir’s brooding stormy thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Okay, I know we both already know about the Sharp Eye’s reputation. But as requested, here’s everything I was able to dig out of that guy, “ Francesca stated as she dropped a pile of manila files onto Ricky’s desk. A few loose sheets of paper and a black-and-white photo of a certain detective slipped out of a folder and scattered onto the polished wooden surface. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Just who the hell did that guy think he was? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“C.C. Tinsley, 30 years old, 6 foot 4, from Schaumburg, Illinois. He’s been working as a detective for 12 years, 8 of which as a private eye. He’s most known within our circle as the guy who worked the cases of Lola Collins and Brian Evans, both of which relatively obscure homicides that occurred in his native city. As soon as his clients presented those cases, they were closed to their favour within an hour of deliberation amongst the judges. Because of this, he’s earned the moniker of ‘Sharp Eye’. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>How dare he disrespect Lucy like that? He doesn’t even know her! </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Papers seldom covered him at all, so the public doesn’t know much about him. But he is highly sought after amongst criminal court lawyers for the evidence he can collect. Unfortunately for most of them, he has a pattern of taking on solely local cases that are not widely covered by the media. Probably doesn’t want to be famous like you, “ Francesca joked. Ricky rolled his eyes and gestured his friend to move onto the next point. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky thought about the detective’s flickering yearning gaze when he seductively lifted his chin, then about how the man just flat out rejected his advances so suddenly. This had to be the first time someone had rejected Ricky in a very long time. And it pissed him off every time he thought about it. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I already suspected something was off when Holly Horsley went out of town for a couple of hours, but I think we both saw it earlier. It’s obvious C.C. Tinsley is now working for Horsley. This is very unusual of him, as he never investigated crimes outside of Schaumburg, let alone serial killers. Whatever Horsley is offering him must be highly appealing, otherwise he would not have come here. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky couldn’t shake off the light blush on Tinsley’s ears, and then that melancholic look in his soft, coffee-coloured eyes. It was a fleeting, resigned look, as though a profound sea full of sorrows lied behind it. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Unsurprisingly, I haven’t found much on his family or friends… I don’t think you could do much on that front. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or perhaps he was just overthinking it, he thought as he purchased a bouquet of assorted flowers and thanked the shopkeeper. After all, the detective did refuse his advances in the end. Maybe he had someone in his life after all. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Although, he does live alone with a cat; one could safely assume he’s single if you want to try to work your charm. Judging from his line of work and lifestyle, he does not seem to be particularly well-off either. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Single his ass. But Ricky didn’t care about the detective’s love life. He was just caught off guard that someone dared reject him, and insult his mother. Who cared what kind of person C.C. Tinsley was? As far as Ricky was concerned, the detective was nothing but a pretentious country bumpkin who dished out gratuitous insults like free candy on Halloween night. And couldn’t he at least put a LITTLE BIT of effort in his attire? His job was to be a detective, goddamn it, he should at least TRY to be neater! Ricky wanted to throw that man out of a window. </p><p> </p><p>And then there was the whole thing about Lucy and Mayor. He really thought he was going to crack with that one. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be behind bars just yet. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I do have to warn you, Ricky. This guy may not seem like much, but I don’t think you should underestimate him. I’ve looked into all of his past cases. Ever since he went private, he hasn’t left a single case unsolved. Granted, he’s never worked larger cases, but I’ve asked around among my colleagues. C.C. Tinsley’s reputation is fully earned. His perceptiveness is not to be joked around with. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“So you mean he’s a massive snoop poop? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Jesus Christ, Ricky. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Whatever. He couldn’t bribe Sharp Eye. Sure, it irritated Ricky, but he’d have to make do with it. The detective could try and catch him all he wanted. No matter how sharp this idiot’s eye was, he would never find out the truth. Ricky Goldsworth was certain of it. After all, Fran was covering his tracks, and he had sufficient money to escape conviction. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth wouldn’t get caught. Because he couldn’t afford to be caught. He couldn’t just stop yet, after all he had done. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t just stop yet, “ he said to no one, staring intently downwards. The bouquet of freshly severed flowers fell onto the cold, hard gravestone that lied beneath. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tl;dr ricky has mommy issues and wants to yeet tinsley out of a window<br/>i also thought it'd be pretty cool to reference annabelle even though it's not historically accurate lmao<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Carnations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello quick note!! cw for graphic depictions of violence/gore/death + mentions of rape (not our boys) at the beginning, if you wish to skip that, go to "Tinsley leant back into his chair and sighed" and read from then on! The description at the beginning does not affect the plot</p><p>enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Number 1. Belle Livingston. Also known as Poison Ivy, the elusive killer who poisoned victims in their sleep. Murdered October 8th, 1950. Found in her apartment face down. Autopsy revealed the ingestion of over 50 Seconal tablets. Suicide was ruled out when evidence of head trauma suggested the serial killer had been severely concussed prior to ingesting the fatal pills. The weapon was later found to be a broomstick from the woman’s closet. </p><p> </p><p>Number 2. Gordon Stewart. Had previously been acquitted after being accused of decapitating his children. Murdered October 23rd, 1950. Found in his living room with his head completely severed at the base of the neck. Blood splatters were all over the room and the body sustained over a dozen nonfatal stab wounds. And yet, no fingerprint evidence was to be found. The killer had been deemed to have no medical training due to the sloppiness of the cut. </p><p> </p><p>Number 3. Colm Durham, the Love Letter Killer. Murdered November 13th, 1950. Found in his living room, violently stabbed to death. The Killer had received nothing short of 20 “love letters” in the week preceding his death, similar to the way he harassed his own victims. </p><p> </p><p>Number 4. Bruce Jonathan Walter, most famously known as the Chelsea Stalker. Murdered December 25th, 1950, in an alleyway close to XX St., the corner of his lips cut open to form a large, contorted grin identical to the one he inflicted upon his own victims. This case is where the White Wolf Killer finally picked up media attention and support, as he signed four business cards and addressed it to the police department, identifying Walter as the Chelsea Stalker, claiming the previous three murders to his name and mocking police because he did their job. “Merry Christmas you useless motherfuckers, “ the tiny cards read with an ominous cheer. </p><p> </p><p>Number 5. William Lucas Hawthorne. Had previously been a suspect in the killing of Margaret Lewis, whose throat had been slit and body disposed lazily in XX park. Murdered January 3rd, 1951. His body was found in the same place in XX park in a contorted position. Hawthorne’s throat was slit open, and the suspect sustained multiple nonfatal stab wounds across his body. </p><p> </p><p>Number 6. James Zollinger. Had previously been acquitted from a first-degree murder charge. Zollinger was accused of carving shapes into the body of 15 years old Samuel Rudolf before stabbing the boy in the heart. Murdered January 29th, 1951. The crime scene had been said to be particularly gruesome. A giant wolf-shaped insignia was carved into both front and back of Zollinger’s body. The suspected murderer’s contorted grimace suggested a prolonged, excruciatingly painful death. </p><p> </p><p>Number 7. Frank Joseph Buchanan. More famously known as the Grim Raper for sexually assaulting over 20 women and burning another 10 to death. Murdered February 14th, 1951. Buchanan’s body was found after sustaining third-degree burns spanning over 90% of the man’s body surface area. His nether regions had been severed and he had been stabbed nonfatally in the abdomen. His death, along with the now very familiar white card that accompanied it, revealed his identity to the public when he had previously not been a suspect in the case. Buchanan’s death had been praised especially amongst women, who began to form a large support group in favour of the White Wolf. </p><p> </p><p>Number 8. Martin O’Connor. Had previously been acquitted for the brutal rape and fatal stabbing of his wife, Elizabeth O’Connor. Murdered March 11th, 1951. O’Connor was found with a severed penis and multiple stab wounds. </p><p> </p><p>“Meow! “ </p><p> </p><p>A tiny black paw stepped onto the several case files sprawled out on Tinsley’s desk. The detective smiled and gently caressed the kitten’s head before taking it into his arms. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on Buddy, I’ve got work to do. Do you want to stay in my lap? “</p><p> </p><p>Buddy curled up into Tinsley’s lap like a small ball of fluff. </p><p> </p><p>Number 9. John McFishe. No past criminal history known. Murdered March 13th, 1951. McFishe was found in his apartment, eyelids sown shut, throat slit open and body sustaining nothing short of twenty stab wounds. The sewing injuries had been sustained prior to the man’s death. Found in his pocket was the ever so familiar and mocking piece of perfumed paper that had been found in all eight other deaths that had preceded him. Further investigation revealed that the background channel that had been running at the time of the murder was broadcasting news of the White Wolf killer, in an ever so unforgiving irony of the situation. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley leant back into his chair and sighed. He looked out into the window. Songbirds gathered on the still bare tree branches, singing the thawing of the snow. </p><p> </p><p>Celebrity vigilante. </p><p> </p><p>He thought about Ricky Goldsworth, trying very hard to push those dark sultry eyes into the back of his mind. That guy was sketchy as hell. To go on such lengths for the White Wolf Killer was suspect, not to mention the unsettling aura Tinsley picked up from the mayor’s son. From past experience, that kind of darkness could only mean sinister things. Tinsley did a little bit of research on Goldsworth; the man was currently unemployed. Maybe he was leading a drug ring, if he wasn’t the White Wolf? His reaction to Mayer’s death did seem oddly personal. But for the time being, Tinsley did not have sufficient evidence against Goldsworth; it was but a hunch. </p><p> </p><p>That still didn’t discount the fact that Ricky Goldsworth was a major flirt, and a very unsavoury one at that. Tinsley despised his kind: two-faced, filthy rich, and blissfully unaware of regular people’s daily woes. The kind who would buy their way through life in a heartbeat, who would judge people based on their status and wealth. Tinsley remembered the way Ricky whispered seductively into his ear. Had it been any other circumstance than the current one, the detective might’ve fallen for the younger man’s bewitching wiles. </p><p> </p><p>But C.C. Tinsley could never fall for Ricky Goldsworth. His heart stood guarded as a frozen faraway dungeon in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by impenetrable seas. Because C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley shook his head and turned his attention back onto the case files. Why John McFishe? As far as Tinsley knew, the man was no murderer. It completely deviated from the White Wolf’s pattern. Czajka’s blue ring could be a stolen item, judging from the simplicity of McFishe’s belongings, but the White Wolf never targeted robbers. No matter how one looked at it, the M.O. did not match. Yet, the card was authentic. </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe I should head to the police department. Ask them what they know about McFishe, “ Tinsley muttered. He placed Buddy back onto the floor, petted it one last time and took his coat in one swift motion before heading out. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t know anything either, “ Holly stated flatly, staring into Tinsley’s eyes with an unwavering gaze. </p><p> </p><p>“But don’t you think it’s weird? Here we have a string of murderers, and now this guy comes in with a squeaky clean record… I checked out his apartment too, all I got was that he works for a paper company and that he gifted his fiancée a strangely fancy ring. Do you think we could perhaps check his bank account activities? “</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley, “ Holly sighed. “I know you are a man of details, but I would much prefer if you focused on identifying the killer first before figuring out his motives. It’s not going to help me much if I know what crime McFishe committed, but not who the White Wolf is. “</p><p> </p><p>“I promise I am looking for him, Holly. I think I have a working theory going. I just need your cooperation on this one, please. I really think there’s something behind McFishe. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly eyed Tinsley with curiosity and doubt in equal parts. Then she relented. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do. But be warned it’s not something I can find overnight. Now, if you can please do your work. “</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you very much, Holly. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley closed the large wooden door behind him. He let out a frustrated sigh. </p><p> </p><p>“Hard at work, detective? “ </p><p> </p><p>The private investigator turned around. It was Darla, the receptionist/secretary, standing in the hallway with a few flowers in her hand and a gentle smile on her face. He looked at his worn out leather shoes. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah… I just don’t have many leads on it yet. “</p><p> </p><p>“You just came out of Ms. Horsley’s office, right? Sometimes it’s a good thing to ask around if you don’t know, “ Darla replied, smiling warmly. “I got those pretty flowers from a friend of mine. Want one? “</p><p> </p><p>As the secretary approached Tinsley with her impromptu bouquet, the detective’s eyes widened. It was that same flowery scent from Ricky Goldsworth’s office. </p><p> </p><p>“What kind of flowers are those, may I ask? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, those? Uhh, I believe those are carnations? “ Darla answered hesitantly, a bit surprised at the detective’s odd behaviour. “They’re pretty, right? “</p><p> </p><p>Carnations. Scent. The cards. Tinsley bolted back towards the DA’s office. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, detective? Where are you going? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley knocked on Holly’s door, realization written all over his face.</p><p><br/>
 <br/>
“District Attorney Holly Horsley, who may this be? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Holly, it’s me, please open the door, I still have one more favour to ask of you. “</p><p> </p><p>Pause. Then the door creaked open. Holly stood facing Tinsley, arms crossed. </p><p> </p><p>“What is it now, Tinsley? “ the lawyer asked in a slightly annoyed tone. </p><p> </p><p>“I need to smell the cards. “</p><p> </p><p>“I beg your pardon? “</p><p> </p><p>“The cards, Holly, “ Tinsley demanded, a bit more impatient, as if he feared losing the memory of the scent. “Could you please get out one of the White Wolf cards, I need to smell it. “</p><p> </p><p>“Have you lost your mind? You’re tampering with evidence now? What’s gotten into you- “</p><p> </p><p>“Just please! I swear I’m out of your way after this! “</p><p> </p><p>Holly briefly met Tinsley’s gaze, before sighing loudly and walking behind her desk. She pulled a drawer and took out a stack of neatly packed white cards. She picked out one card from the deck and handed it to Tinsley, carefully studying him as he brought the small piece of paper to his nose and inhaled. </p><p> </p><p>It was faint, but it was there. The same scent. The scent of carnations. The green vial. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley quickly handed the card back to Holly and ran out of the office yelling, “Holly, I think I’ve connected the two dots! “</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t connect shit, Tinsley! “</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve connected them. “</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley ran and ran. He was panting and sweating profusely. The world spun upside down as he tried hard not to trip and fall. </p><p> </p><p>Carnations. </p><p> </p><p>He had to retrieve that vial. It would be immensely incriminating if he could get his hands on it. Tinsley paused to catch his breath before picking up his pace again. </p><p> </p><p>His balance must’ve been very poor, as he ran straight into another person, falling and dragging the poor passerby down with him. Tinsley quickly turned towards the stranger to apologize, but then he stopped dead in his tracks. </p><p> </p><p>“You! What are you doing here!“ the panicked detective shouted as he pointed at the person he just tackled to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>It was a very unamused Ricky Goldsworth, who dusted off his coat and got up. The younger man shot a deathly glare at Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>“I just came back from the graveyard. I’m the one who should be asking questions here. Was yesterday’s mess not enough for you, dipshit? You’re coming for me in the streets now? “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the White Wolf! I know you are! “ Tinsley yelled accusingly. Ricky burst out in laughter. </p><p> </p><p>“Where did you pull that horse shit theory from, detective? Out of your ass? You have no eviden-“ </p><p> </p><p>“Listen here, “ Tinsley grabbed Ricky by the collar and whispered in a threatening, lowly voice. The shorter man gulped. “I know about your fancy little perfume, Goldsworth. I’ve smelled it at your office, and I knew it was familiar. But now I know why that was the case. It’s carnation-scented perfume. The same one you spray onto your fancy little business cards when you send them off. I know you did it, Goldsworth, don’t even try to deny it, I can see through your little game. It’s only a matter of time before I put you behind bars now. “</p><p> </p><p>The detective’s threatening words sent shivers down Ricky’s spine. Before he could even retort, Tinsley continued: </p><p> </p><p>“Have you no shame, Goldsworth? What do human lives even mean to you? Nothing? The lunacy of wealth finally got to your head? What would your father, the mayor think of your fun little occupation? Don’t you think he’d be heartbroken to know his darling son is wreaking havoc in the city he dedicated his entire life to build? “</p><p> </p><p>“Drag my dad into this and you’ll wish you were never alive, Tinsley, “ Ricky warned, his calm and low voice signifying anything but calmness and safety. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I will, mark my words. Once your little charade goes public, it’s over for you, Goldsworth. You deserve nothing but the stone cold ground of prison. Do you not even feel the slightest remorse for your victims? I’ve read about them. You took a sadistic pleasure in torturing them before they died. Do you also enjoy desecrating their graves, seeing as you just came back from there- “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was greeted with a solid punch to the jaw. The detective stumbled backwards, stunned. </p><p> </p><p>“THAT WAS MY MOTHER’S GRAVE, YOU INSENSITIVE DIPSHIT! “ Ricky screamed, his voice cracking mid-sentence. Then, he stormed off before Tinsley could even react. </p><p> </p><p>I’m going to murder that son of a bitch, Ricky thought. Screw moral high grounds, or whatever those are. Fran was right. This guy deserved everything he was about to plan.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tinsley really said lemme sniff those murder tree slices</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Schemes, Schemes, Schemes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: light mentions of blood</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been days. Tinsley hadn't heard from Ricky Goldsworth since then. </p><p> </p><p>Nor had the detective been able to get his hands on that ever elusive perfume. He was certain that no other human being on Earth had ever put even half the amount of effort he did to steal a criminal's floral body juice, and to private investigator C.C. Tinsley, it was both ridiculous and infuriating at this point. </p><p> </p><p>He had first attempted to sneak into the Goldsworth residence while the mayor had a press conference, assuming that the younger Goldsworth would also attend the event. Upon jumping into the backyard from the vine gates and hiding behind the thick bushes of what seemed more like a royal garden, he discovered, much to his dismay, that his prime suspect had been home all along, nursing a drink and conversing with a dashing dark-haired sunglasses woman. Tinsley rolled his eyes at the thought of Ricky Goldsworth getting all the ladies, but immediately composed himself as he realized a more pressing concern. Indeed, surrounding the pair were two tall, comically muscular men guarding the conversation. Bodyguards?! Tinsley swallowed. He wouldn't be surprised if the fancy golden boy by day/vigilante murderer by night hired their services. Either way, needless to say, the detective did not want to stumble home with black eyes and a broken jaw. But then, he almost tripped on a cobblestone step as he tried to surreptitiously climb back out of the gates and reach his car parked a few blocks away. While the Goldsworth party did not seem to notice him, Tinsley did feel like he was scurrying around like a rat. A 6 foot 4 tall rat. </p><p> </p><p>The second day, Tinsley tried to pass as a psychic looking for city archives in the Goldsworth manor. Knowing Ricky Goldsworth would instantly recognize his face, he decided to disguise himself. Only realistic-looking costumes cost an exorbitant fortune, and so he ended up ringing the Goldsworth front gates with a bright yellow wig and a Santa Claus beard. When a maid came to the gates and raised her eyebrows at the unexpected guest, Tinsley was sweating so much he could fill the Goldsworths' pool. He did not know how he managed to convince the woman to let him "explore the municipal archives", and he was just one mocking Ricky Goldsworth away from running away into the sun. Luckily for the detective/clown psychic, neither the mayor nor his son were in sight, and the door to the younger Goldsworth's office was slightly ajar... But when Tinsley stepped into the murderer's den for the second time ever, the little green vial no longer sat on the library shelf. Panicked, Tinsley began to rapidly rummage through the room, to no avail. "Should've seen it coming, " the private investigator grudgingly muttered as he left the Goldsworth estate, fearing its owners' impending return. </p><p> </p><p>On the third day, Tinsley considered training a dog to track the scent of the perfume. He begged a very reluctant and increasingly confused Holly to lend him one of the department's dogs and one of the White Wolf's business cards. As Holly refused to leave the evidence card unsupervised for more than fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes were the exact amount of time Tinsley was given to train his pet-for-a-day. Training consisted of waving the card in the animal's general direction, and constantly retracting one's hand because Tinsley was afraid the dog would eat or drool on the evidence in front of a district attorney who would most likely have the detective's whole career for such a blatant mishap. Fortunately, that didn't happen, and Tinsley walked his new furry friend towards a mansion that was now way too familiar for his liking. The canine officer circled the whole estate, sniffing the vines and wagging its tail from time to time. Then it turned into the street and away from the manor. "Makes sense, maybe Goldsworth hid it away from his house, " Tinsley thought, and followed the lead. Foolishly so, as the dog led him straight into the drawer in Holly's office, the one that contained the murder cards. "If only dogs were cats, " Tinsley sighed, defeated. </p><p> </p><p>And so C.C. Tinsley stood before the gates to Ricky Goldsworth's residence, once again, with that piss yellow wig brighter than his future and a mall Santa beard that looked more like tangled clumps of floss. The detective was seriously beginning to question his own sanity as he was once more guided into the residence by an increasingly weirded out housemaid. This time, Tinsley took some time to actually pretend to look into the archives, and strolled around the house. He wasn't even sure if he was trying anymore at this point. The maid didn't recognize him as a detective, but rather as "Brad," a performative psychic invested in "city archives" to a worrying degree. So at least he didn't have to worry about getting discovered. He did briefly admire the portrait of a middle-aged, black-haired woman dressed with very muted colours, smiling kindly with dark but bright eyes. The woman's gaze seemed oddly familiar, and Tinsley attributed it to her being related to Ricky Goldsworth; only, the woman's eyes seemed to harbour more altruistic tendencies than her homicidal relative. </p><p> </p><p>But enough with visiting the rich like a theme park. Tinsley had business to do. And so he subtly made his way back into that familiar office, and kept snooping around Ricky Goldsworth's personal belongings. Drawers and shelves contained no potential weapons nor incriminating documents; one should've figured murderers wouldn't keep a convenient diary of their crimes in a neat little drawer. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley forgot how much time he spent in that office, but it certainly didn't correlate with any leads. He had scanned every corner of the room, flipped through every page of each book on the shelf, rummaged through every possible drawer and cupboard. No perfume in sight. </p><p> </p><p>At this rate, Goldsworth would have his face plastered onto newspaper front pages for trespassing before he could find that vial. The prospect of that alone was terrifying Tinsley. Frustrated and defeated, the private investigator decided to make himself a sad cup of tea before leaving. If he couldn't catch the rich, might as well eat them. </p><p> </p><p>"The rich who can afford to have hot water ready at any moment, " Tinsley fumed as he poured from the kettle and filled his cup. The fragrant scent of jasmine tea enveloped the room, and the detective felt a sense of calm wash over him when calm shouldn't wash over him. C.C. Tinsley was standing in the middle of a serial killer's office, brewing tea while wearing a bright yellow wig, a clownish Santa beard dangling from his neck. If the detective even tried to imagine taking on large publicized cases, never in a million years would he have pictured this as his job description. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley figured he might as well enjoy his misery, and leaned onto the wall to sip the freshly brewed tea. </p><p> </p><p>But then he felt the wall slide behind him, and he almost spilled his drink. </p><p> </p><p>Slide?</p><p> </p><p>The detective turned around, only to find out that the "wall" was actually a small door the size of a music box, and leaning onto said "wall" actually just pushed the door open, leading to a small hole in the wall. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley reached hesitantly into the crevice, feeling around the rough edges and corners of each surface within. He had expected an accumulation of dirt and soot onto his hand as he brushed past the unexplored walls; oddly enough, the inside of the hole felt pretty clean and, so far, seemed to be empty. </p><p> </p><p>Until he reached further and felt a cool, glassy object rising from the bottom surface. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley held his breath as he removed his hand from the hole, placed the teacup onto the desk, reached into his pocket and fished out a glove. The detective slowly put on the glove and reached into the wall once again. </p><p> </p><p>When his hand came back out, all Tinsley wanted focus on was the lime green vial that lied in his hand. But a faint male voice rose from outside the room, quickening his heartbeat. The detective swiftly slid both his glove and the vial into his pocket, closed the wall door and opened the office window before he attempted to quickly crawl out of the room, which was luckily on the first floor of the mansion. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn't have much trouble leaving the Goldsworth estate after that, being now a veteran intruder at this point. Well, maybe aside from the fact that his beard got stuck on the pikes of the vine fences and that he had to manually untangle the hairs to free himself from potentially getting hanged by his own costume. </p><p> </p><p>The detective slid his hand into his pocket and felt the cool glass against his fingertips as he walked down the Chicago streets. He gazed at the now darkened navy sky; had he been at the Goldsworths' residence for that long? Regardless, he had acquired the perfume. All he had to do now, was to turn in the evidence. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley turned around the corner, and was soon faced with the front door of his apartment. He reached for the keys at the bottom of his pocket before inserting them into the lock and turning the doorknob. He was greeted by the crashing sound of shattered plates. </p><p> </p><p>The detective quickly looked in the noise's direction, and sighed.</p><p> </p><p>"I know I look like a clown right now, but it's just me, Buddy, " he said to the black kitten that now stood on the kitchen cupboard, its wide eyes all panic and no disco. Tinsley removed his party attire and walked towards his companion. "Come on, let's clean this up and get you a treat. We have something worth celebrating today. "</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Midnight . Buddy had been well fed, and the evidence had been safely stored away. And yet, Tinsley struggled to drift into slumber, rolling around in a bed that was too short for his legs. His mind kept wandering towards the young Goldsworth, who would soon be nothing but a convicted murderer. He remembered the man's dark sultry eyes staring into his soul with mischief and malice, as well as the smooth voice that made men and women swoon. Why would a man who could have the world decide to commit such heinous acts? Maybe the detective would never know. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley finally got up, threw on his trenchcoat and headed out. He needed a walk. Yes, a walk at midnight. </p><p> </p><p>The tall, sleepless detective was greeted by the chilly air of a dying winter. He lazily and aimlessly strolled the deserted sidewalks of Chicago, dimly lit by misty streetlights. Maybe he could stomach living in a big city if streets were always like this. But then he remembered totalling Ricky Goldsworth's Porsche in the busy Chicago traffic, and any desire to remain in this urban hellhole instantly vanished. He frankly couldn't wait to close this case. Privacy or not, the mere thought of a certain aristocratic serial killer made his blood boil, and Tinsley never wanted to wear a garbage blonde wig to the mayor's den again. Not that he intended to publicly shame the mayor and his son; that was never his intention. Rather, the detective simply did not want to associate with this unscrupulous wealthy criminal; nothing good could possibly come out of it. C.C. Tinsley wanted nothing but to return to his quiet life in Schaumburg. </p><p> </p><p>A quiet life it was, indeed. </p><p> </p><p>But the private investigator scarcely had the time to further reflect on his disdain for big cities and pretty rich men when he suddenly felt a cloth shoved into his face and a pair of muscular arms locking around his torso. Tinsley struggled to break free, but his muffled screams slowly dimmed to nothingness as his vision faded to black. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>When Tinsley regained consciousness, he noticed several things.</p><p> </p><p>One, he was in a sitting position, his hands locked behind his back with what definitely felt like rough tight ropes. His whole body was aching and his head was pounding inside his skull. </p><p> </p><p>Two, he definitely wasn’t on the street anymore. Wherever this was, this was a poorly lit dingy room that resembled either an abandoned warehouse or someone’s creepy old crawl space. Cockroaches scurried around the ground, making sure to avoid the several puddles of dark liquid; Tinsley did not want to know what or whose fluids those were. </p><p> </p><p>Three, he could distinguish a short male figure through the dim lighting. The man was fit and wore a plain white dress shirt and tight black pants. A faint whiff of carnations caught the detective’s nose. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley instantly knew. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, well, well, awake aren’t we, detective? “ a smooth and sweet voice questioned playfully. </p><p> </p><p>“Ricky Goldsworth, “ Tinsley gritted through his teeth. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s not a friendly attitude, “ Ricky chuckled. “But I guess I can see why you would resent me. “ </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley warily eyed his kidnapper. He thanked the dim lighting for masking most of the shorter man’s features, so that he wouldn’t have to further embarrass himself with, uh, involuntary reactions. He did notice a sharp metallic glint in the man’s right hand. </p><p> </p><p>“So what is it now, Goldsworth? Or, should I say, Mr. White Wolf. You’ve decided to fully reveal yourself to me? Finally decided to move into jail? “</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Tinsley. I don’t think you realize who’s in control here, “ Ricky growled, his gaze not leaving Tinsley’s. “This is a crime scene, and you’re the victim. “</p><p> </p><p>The private investigator couldn’t help but burst in laughter. “And where did you learn that line from, Book of Comical Criminals 101? A dusty How-To Crime manual sitting on your bookshelf? Oh, your victims would be so ashamed if they knew! Did you also dish out this line when you killed them? I’m sure they’d rather die at the base of Jackass Hill than to sit through your gimmicky theatrics. “ </p><p> </p><p>The detective was greeted with a cold blade pressing firmly against his throat. He held in his breath as he felt the White Wolf’s warm breath against his neck. All of the hair stood up from his arms. </p><p> </p><p>“Listen here, long legs“ Ricky hissed lowly into Tinsley’s ear. “I can handle you calling me a filthy murderer. But I will not tolerate blatant slander on my family’s name. I will make sure you experience a slow, excruciating death. You should experience nothing but suffering and I will make sure you get exactly what you deserve. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley swallowed hard as Ricky moved the golden knife towards the detective’s lips, brushing against them. Tinsley felt a salty, metallic taste spill into his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps I should start with that sharp tongue of yours. Make sure you never speak ill of my mother again. Or, should I say, a taste of many more joys to come? “</p><p> </p><p>“… perfume. “ </p><p> </p><p>“What? What did you say? “ Ricky interrogated loudly. The detective was chuckling quietly, his voice so faint that the shorter man only caught the end of the sentence. </p><p> </p><p>“And I thought you were after me for that… No, never mind. I don’t think you’re aware of the stakes at hand, Mr. White Wolf. “</p><p> </p><p>“And what are those stakes, may I ask before I chop off your tongue? “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure you know I’m aware of your fancy little perfume, “ Tinsley met Ricky’s eyes with a veiled yet confident gaze. Half-lidded eyes, a smirk on his stupid face; the detective seemed more amused than frightened at this moment, and to the Goldsworth boy, it was a deeply unsettling reaction. “Well, I’m happy to announce that I’ve got your <em>eau de toilette</em>, Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened and stumbled back. Since when? He thought he had hid it after the private investigator had mentioned it. He didn’t recall any guests coming over, aside from a weird tall psychic called Brad whom the maid kept complaining about… Oh no. </p><p> </p><p>The shorter man's blood ran stone cold. He tried his best to conceal his shock. “A-and s-so what? You can’t-t  turn evidence in if you die here. You’re not leaving this building alive, Tinsley. You’re not going to turn me in! “</p><p> </p><p>The detective laughed. “Oh, but you’ll turn yourself in when you kill me, Goldsworth. I don’t think you understood what I said. I got your perfume. I don’t actually have it with me. It’s at the police department in a safe Holly lent me. I had intended to dig up more information before I turned you in. But, if I were to die during the investigation, Holly would open my safe and discover all the necessary papers and evidence to convict you. That includes the perfume, photographs of it sitting in your little office, as well as my testimonies explaining your connection to the murders. You kill me tonight, you’ll be incriminated tomorrow morning. On the other hand, if you let me live and do my job, you might still be able to roam free for another couple of weeks. How’s that sound for you, Mr. White Wolf? I don’t think you’re the one in control here. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could see his kidnapper’s wide eyes as the latter’s brain ran a hundred miles per second as he struggled to make a decision. All of the detective’s worries had then been replaced by sheer amusement at the situation. You see, Tinsley had never brought the vial to the police station; he hadn’t had the time. He hadn’t produced any photographs nor testimonies either. He was, in fact, talking out of his ass and bluffing his way through the detective-napping. He had been initially worried that his opponent would see through his lies, but Goldsworth’s lack of awareness of the perfume heist and visible fear had reassured Tinsley in what could essentially be considered an award-winning acting stunt. </p><p> </p><p>Seeing as his kidnapper remained silent, Tinsley continued. “Who knew the city’s golden boy was a cold-blooded murderer? Could you imagine the massive uproar that would result from your conviction? I’m sure your father would be thrilled to hear about this tomorrow. You would have the blood of not one, but two innocent men on your hands. How’s that for PR, Goldsworth? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Fine, “ Ricky finally spat. “Consider yourself lucky for tonight. But don’t think I’m letting you go so easily. I’ve got intel on you, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh? And what would that be? I’m sure you know by now that I have no attachments. You can’t bribe me, Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>“Turn in the evidence and I’m tracking your cat dow- “</p><p> </p><p>“LEAVE BUDDY ALONE, YOU MONSTER, “ Tinsley yelled. When he caught his breath again, he lifted his head to meet Ricky’s gaze again. The Goldsworth heir’s eyes flickered from Tinsley’s panicked gaze to the latter’s face, as though he was studying the detective. Ricky then let out a small scoff. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that’s right. I know you have a cat. Come to think of it... A dear friend of mine also told me that you tend to dig too much into things. I can’t say that I’ve experienced the contrary from you. "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky lowered his shiny golden blade, the tip of which coloured slightly crimson by Tinsley's essence. "But see, detective, I think you’ll never convict me precisely because of your meticulous tendencies. Perhaps you’ll even find out why I did all of this. Perhaps then, you’d stop investigating, “ he pondered. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley carefully studied the serial killer’s facial expressions. The latter’s eyes were no longer wide with fright and were staring absently into the distance. There had been no frowns, no smile, no contorted facial features. What had initially appeared to be shock had completely faded into a calm and resigned demeanour. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky continued. “I’m sure you love your cat dearly, Tinsley. Probably would hate to see it go up in flames. So why don’t we make a deal? No bribing this time. I won’t halt your investigations anymore, and you’re free to dig up evidence about me as you please. I won’t attempt to bribe you, seduce you, nor kill you in the process. You get to find out all of the information about me, mount your little case and eventually put me behind bars. You get to go back home in Schaumburg, and never have to come back to this filthy city full of rich brats who murder people. Really the ideal situation isn’t it? In exchange, you will not turn in your work to Horsley unless the case is completely solved. No corners left in the dust. I know, I know, you may think that I’m giving you a lot of freedom for a criminal escaping conviction, and I'm sure you know that I do not wish for my little game to be exposed. You see, I’m essentially asking for time while I figure out what to do with you before you catch me. But if you solve everything before I do, that’s a win for you. How's that sound? “ </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley considered the proposition. He’d be lying if he said that it wasn’t an enticing one. But this time, it was also reasonable, as he had intended to find out every detail about the case anyways. Most importantly, Goldsworth would leave him alone. He wasn’t exactly a fan of these little meetings, after all. The only worry the detective had was timing. Goldsworth did intend to find a way around the deal eventually, so he essentially had a time limit on his investigations before the murder attempts resumed. </p><p> </p><p>“But let me make this clear, detective, “ Ricky warned lowly. “Turn in unfinished work, or try funny stuff with my dad, and I’m feeding your cat’s remains straight into your bloody mouth. “ </p><p> </p><p>Well, this man was a ticking time-bomb regardless of the truce; Tinsley would at least buy some time away from getting murdered. </p><p> </p><p>“Deal. But mark my words, I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again, Ricky Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>“Try paying my car bills first, sweetie! “ Ricky mocked as he raised his arms and clapped his hands into the air. Two large figures emerged from the shadows. Tinsley recognized the two men. Goldsworth’s bodyguards. </p><p> </p><p>“Get this gentleman back to his house, would you? “ the Goldsworth boy ordered in a singsong voice as one of the heavyset guards fastened a brown bag over Tinsley’s head. Tinsley laughed. </p><p> </p><p>“You know, you have to be the most comically stereotypical villain out there, Goldsworth. Did your mom get you from the factory of hilarious clowns? “</p><p> </p><p>“Eat shit Tinsley, your words don’t mean shit! You’re just jealous because you lead a sad life, you feckless idiot! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s insults slowly faded into the distance as the detective was carried away and thrown onto a leather couch. Tinsley sighed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My life doesn’t mean much, honestly. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>when i was trying to write tinsley's attempts at getting the perfume, i was only thinking of how the pink panther used silly disguises to distract people from what they actually look like; i wanted to make tinsley like that, but dollar store version so here we are</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Keys to the City</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: mentions of light bodily injury</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>March 20th, 1951, 8:49 AM. </p><p> </p><p>Holly Horsley stepped out of her car and walked towards the Chicago police department. Not a shadow of hesitation shrouded the hardened lawyer, in spite of the burning glares of protesters camping at the building — seriously, one would almost think these people lived here. </p><p> </p><p>It was going to be another busy day at the office. Assign XX case to XX officer, attend XX court hearing, brief C.C. Tinsley on McFishe updates, hand over a monthly report to the mayor, make sure Banjo doesn't phone his wife for another four hours of his shift. </p><p> </p><p>Holly's head kept running at high speed when she noticed a familiar black vehicle stationed on the side of the building. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley? But he's not supposed to come in before 1 PM, Holly thought. She approached the car and looked into the front seat window. The driver's seat was empty. </p><p> </p><p>"Maybe he already went in, " the district attorney thought as she prepared to turn back. But then the corner of her eye caught a faint movement in the backseat, and when she turned to see what it was, Holly’s blood froze in horror. </p><p> </p><p>Lying on the leather seat was a tall, slender man curled up in fetal position, with a brown bag tied to his head. His hands had been bound behind his back, the rough ropes digging into the man's reddened skin. </p><p> </p><p>Instinctively, Holly grabbed the door handle in a swift movement to pull it. Luckily, the car hadn't been locked and the lawyer quickly removed the bag from the detective's large head. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, hello Holly, " Tinsley mumbled groggily as he looked up. "I'm assuming they dropped me at the station-"</p><p> </p><p>"What in the world, Tinsley?! " </p><p> </p><p>The detective chuckled, his smiling lips still stained with dried blood. Holly facepalmed, then let out a breath. At least the man seemed relatively fine. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm fine, Holly. I've got some good news about the case, if you'd be so kind as to untie me. "</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>"Now, care to explain why you were tied up in the backseat of your car? " </p><p> </p><p>Holly crossed her arms as she eyed the detective sitting in her office chair. C.C. Tinsley was gently holding a cup of quickly brewed coffee with both of his hands as he looked around the room and gazed at an empty photo frame on the top of Holly's drawer.  </p><p> </p><p>Upon freeing her new weird hire, Holly had rapidly called to reschedule her day and moved her meeting with Tinsley to 9 AM. Court hearings started in two hours; the other events could wait. Whatever happened to the private investigator last night was clearly a more urgent matter. </p><p> </p><p>"I was gathering evidence for the case, " Tinsley finally spoke. He took a slow sip of his coffee. "Then I got detective-napped. Don't worry, it's not my first time, Holly. But I do think reasonably that the person behind this is the White Wolf. "</p><p> </p><p>Holly examined the private investigator who sat before her. In contrast to his calm and delicate demeanour, his wrists bore loud red marks, angry at the mistreatment of hours past. Darkened eye bags hung below the detective's lazy eyes like silent witnesses to a sleepless night. Tinsley carefully blew the steam off of his coffee, his lips still carrying the bloody scar from a certain golden knife. The tall man's hair, which was already chaotic in normal times, made him look particularly disheveled this spring morning. </p><p> </p><p>In terms of appearance, there was certainly a lot left to be desired. But at least, the detective wasn’t dead, and the case might be progressing. Holly knew she could at least expect this much from the Sharp Eye. </p><p> </p><p>"Have you seen your attacker? Do you know who they are? " she finally asked. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hesitated for a second. He remembered his heated encounters with Ricky Goldsworth, as well as their sort-of truce currently in effect. How much could he divulge for the moment? From the looks of mansion boy, he probably didn't have enough to convict the White Wolf yet. It seemed like he had to dig some more. And really, that was the only condition the shorter man gave him. </p><p> </p><p>Ultimately, he had to uphold his duty for his client, serial killer truce or not. He wasn't about to become the killer's pet. </p><p> </p><p>"I've seen him. I know who he is. I also think I've dug up some interesting evidence connecting him to the murders. "</p><p> </p><p>"Then tell me- "</p><p> </p><p>"But judging from what I've seen, I don't think that's enough to secure a solid conviction yet. In order to further help you, I need to know what you know, Holly. "</p><p> </p><p>Holly let out a frustrated sigh. But then, she saw the determination and certainty in the detective's unwavering eyes. Those weren't the eyes of a lying man. Perhaps Sharp Eye really did know who did it. </p><p> </p><p>"Fine, " the district attorney finally let out. She uncrossed her arms and began to slowly pace around the office, her heels clicking with every step. "We are a team after all, and it is time you know some things about the case. I'll- "</p><p> </p><p>"Ms. Horsley, come quick! " </p><p> </p><p>Holly was interrupted by loud knocks to her door and Banjo McClintock's frantic calls. She frowned. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm in a meeting right now, Banjo, " the district attorney replied in an ostensibly exasperated tone. "You better have something important to say. "</p><p> </p><p>"Mr. Goldsworth's here, Ms. Horsley, the mayor and his son are at the station, I think they're looking for you, something about a report- " </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, tell them to meet me in room A26. I'll be there in two minutes. " </p><p> </p><p>Holly sighed as Banjo left to greet the impromptu guests. She turned her gaze back to Tinsley, who had been observing the whole interaction with a quizzical look. Holly motioned him to stand up, and opened the office door as she stepped out. </p><p> </p><p>"Come with me, detective. I think your presence there may prove to be productive. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley quickly followed his client as they walked through the hallway. "But Holly, what about the information? And, something tells me it's not a good i- "</p><p> </p><p>"We'll discuss this later, Tinsley. " </p><p> </p><p>Holly's abrupt tone startled the detective, who opted for silence as he followed her towards room A26. Millions of questions remained unanswered in his head. How much did Holly Horsley know? Did she know Ricky Goldsworth's involvement? Why else would she want him to meet the mayor and his son? Why did Ricky Goldsworth let him go with such lenient conditions? Plus, he couldn't help but feel a certain unease at the prospect of attending an improvised meeting with the mayor of Chicago, the White Wolf killer, and Holly Horsley, infamous district attorney of the city, all in one single sitting. To Tinsley, it really sounded like a disaster cocktail in the making. </p><p> </p><p>That disastrous brew was about to be poured into Tinsley's metaphorical glass when Holly knocked on the frosted glass door and opened it shortly after. When the pair stepped inside, Tinsley noticed that this was a rather large conference room. Sitting in the middle of the room was an old, yet well-built man. The man had green eyes, ash blonde hair and sported a black suit and a navy tie. His confident posture gave him an incredibly imposing aura, one that Holly Horsley probably matched. In spite of this, Tinsley’s eyes drifted towards the pretty face right next to the green-eyed man; it was a face the detective was too familiar with at this point. Neatly combed black hair, silky smooth sunset skin, a sharp smile on a defined jaw; Ricky Goldsworth, in his ever unchanging splendour, was sitting comfortably on his chair, his immaculately white dress shirt and tight black pants doing little to hide the man’s toned features. </p><p> </p><p>The golden boy turned his head towards the door, and, for a brief moment, his sultry dark eyes met Tinsley’s gaze. The latter felt a shiver down his spine. The shorter man’s neat presentation contrasted sharply with Tinsley’s unkempt hair, dark eye bags, marked wrists and dirty trench coat hiding an equally dirty set of pajamas that hadn’t been changed out of. Considering what Goldsworth had done in the hours preceding this meeting, he had no right to look this well-put together. The mayor’s son subtly rolled his eyes and averted his gaze, clearly off-put by the detective’s unannounced presence, which relieved and amused Tinsley. Perhaps his suspect had more to lose in this meeting than him. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley was the only one to notice such details, as to anyone else, one did not need to think twice before focusing on the older man. </p><p> </p><p>Why? Because this was none other than Robert Goldsworth, the most powerful man of Chicago. </p><p> </p><p>"Good morning, Mr. Goldsworth. What brings you to the police department early this morning? " Holly greeted coolly, breaking the silence and pulling Tinsley out of his momentary trance. Her gaze remained fixated on the mayor and spared no moment of attention to the younger man who sat beside. Ricky Goldsworth, who was so used to feel the warmth of the shiny spotlight on his face, might as well have been a ghost in this moment. Yet, surprisingly, he didn't seem to be even fazed by his sudden insignificance. </p><p> </p><p>"Ms. Horsley, " Robert Goldsworth replied in an ever slow and calm voice. "I believe you had a report for me today. I've just got a call from your department saying you'd be postponing it. Seeing as you never do that, and since I haven't come to the station in a while, I figured I'd drop by to see what's new here. I do believe your team has had difficult times with the press lately. " </p><p> </p><p>The mayor glanced around Holly and his eyes landed on her strange guest, scanning the latter from head to toe. Uncombed hair, tired eyes, a borderline bruised lower lip, and a highly unconventional work attire. He looked back at Holly with a raised eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>“And who may this gentleman be? “</p><p> </p><p>“This is C.C. Tinsley, Mr. Goldsworth, “ Holly replied, without missing a beat. “He’s the private investigator I’ve hired from out of town to work on the White Wolf case. “</p><p> </p><p>“Pleased to meet you, sir, “ Tinsley bowed and greeted politely. “Ms. Horsley requested that I attend this meeting with you. “</p><p> </p><p>“I hope you can excuse detective Tinsley’s unconventional attire today. He was on the terrain last night and hasn’t had the chance to get changed yet, “ Holly added. </p><p> </p><p>“The Sharp Eye, “ the older Goldsworth nodded pensively. “I’ve heard about you, Tinsley. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and my city welcomes your presence. Allow me to introduce you my son, Ricky Goldsworth, who will also be attending this meeting. “ </p><p> </p><p>The mayor gestured towards the young man sitting next to him. His son rolled his eyes for a split second before offering a very reluctant and meaningless introduction as he stared intensely into Tinsley’s eyes. His mouth spoke of some empty formalities the detective could not remember, where as his dangerous dark eyes seemed to convey an entirely different message. <em>Try anything funny with my dad, and I’m throwing your cat in a ditch.</em> </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley scoffed under his breath and nodded lightly. He glanced at Holly, who had been sending death glares in the younger Goldsworth’s direction. The latter finally caught on the district attorney’s ire, shrugged his shoulders and leant back into his seat, which did nothing but infuriate Holly even more. The whole scene seemed very strange to Tinsley, who decided to mostly observe the meeting rather than provide his input. It seemed like the better decision in a meeting he had no say in involving a man he did not want to further provoke. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth, on the other hand, decided to study his nemesis intensely. While he did believe the detective caught his silent warning, he still wanted to make sure Tinsley did not attempt to rat him out in front of his father. His dad was already preoccupied with the city and his own deteriorating health; Ricky didn’t need him to also find out that his only son was also the killer he had wanted police to catch for the past few months. All of his efforts could be undone if the tall idiotic private eye does not shut his mouth, and Ricky certainly did not want that to happen. </p><p> </p><p>And so, Ricky kept staring at Tinsley while Holly Horsley spoke with his dad about some report and his health, probably. The detective must have caught on, as Ricky did notice the taller man return his gaze from time to time, an air of sheer disdain on his stupid face, before focusing back on Holly Horsley and the mayor. Ricky glanced at the detective’s wrists, and smiled as he noticed the red marks still tattooed onto the pale delicate skin. Serves that bastard right. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for your concern, Ms. Horsley, I will make sure to look after my health. Speaking of which, how’s your department doing? I know the press hasn’t been particularly kind. Please do know however, that your work is very much appreciated and that I am grateful for what you do for our community. “</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for your kind words, Mr. Goldsworth. Most of the officers are doing what they can to aid in the cases, and we are making progress slowly but surely. The press can say what they want, but criminals are criminals, and justice must be served. You know my stance on that, and I fully plan on making that happen, no matter who the criminal is. Individuals who commit murder should be tried; murderers who inflict suffering upon several people deserve nothing short of life in prison, “ Holly responded, her eyes drifting towards Ricky Goldsworth with an ire Tinsley had come to recognize. The district attorney’s tone was cool and composed as ever, yet her gaze told a story that was far from neutral. Tinsley couldn’t help but think that his client knew about Ricky Goldsworth. This doubt, compounded with the intense stare from said suspect while they discussed the morality of his crimes, was an immensely awkward and strange situation that made the detective feel very uneasy, despite his experiences in observing situations and searching for evidence through conversation. It was as though the detective was just about to dive into an entangled web of secrets he could not return from unscathed. </p><p> </p><p>“And what about you, detective Tinsley? What are your views on justice? “</p><p> </p><p>The mayor’s sudden question startled Tinsley, who did not expect to participate in the conversation. He met the old man’s curiously inquisitive gaze. The detective could tell that unlike his son’s darkness, Robert Goldsworth’s eyes were those of an honest, stable man. In fact, the two men looked nothing alike, as though Ricky Goldsworth had come from an alien planet of cold-hearted criminals into the mayor’s house and declared it his property. Speaking of Ricky Goldsworth, Tinsley could just feel the latter’s burning gaze onto him. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn’t need a second thought to respond, though. “I believe it’s a case-by-case thing, sir. I do believe that justice must be served, but I do not think justice operates on a one-size-fits-all basis. Based on what I’ve seen in my work, the question of whether a person committed a crime or not is often black-and-white. On the other hand, the person’s deserved sentence is more nuanced, as small details in the evidence often factor in and determine the degree to which the person is guilty. One such example could be a person who killed their attacker in self-defense. Would that person be equally as guilty as a person who intentionally murdered their child for insurance money? I do not think so, sir. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced at Holly, who was still subtly eyeing Ricky Goldsworth with immense contempt in her eyes. “I do think I share a similar view with Ms. Horsley, but my work is, after all, centred around gathering data to determine if the person is in fact, a ‘murderer who inflicts suffering upon several people’, or if there’s more to the story than initially presented, “ he added.</p><p> </p><p>The older Goldsworth nodded in agreement, and smiled gently as he turned towards Holly. “You’ve got a smart one on your hands, Ms. Horsley. I like this young man, he seems like an intelligent and perceptive one. Perfect for the case, dare I say. “</p><p> </p><p>“In fact, I would like to extend an invitation to you, detective, “ Robert Goldsworth said as he turned his gaze to Tinsley once more. The tall detective briefly noticed Ricky Goldsworth’s eyes widening at his father’s words. “I’m hosting a city ball at the Goldsworth manor in three days, and I would like for you to attend the event. I would’ve invited your boss, but she’s busy on that day. It isn’t much, but I believe you may be able to make some astute observations there. Otherwise, consider this a welcoming gift for your arrival in the city. Both my son and I will attend the event, should you wish to greet us as well. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced at Ricky Goldsworth. Unsurprisingly, the latter was fuming. </p><p> </p><p>“But father, you don’t even know this man well! Have you seen his outfit today? He’s going to embarrass all of us! “ the younger Goldsworth protested as Tinsley rolled his eyes. Amidst the pair’s palpable mutual contempt, the mayor motioned his son to calm down. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure he will dress appropriately at the event, Ricky. This is an intelligent young man and actually, I do think it would do you good to get acquainted with people around your age. “</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh! “</p><p> </p><p>“Anyways, I do believe we should head out now. Thank you again for the report, Ms. Horsley, and pleasure to meet you, detective Tinsley. I’ll be expecting you at the ball, “ Mr. Goldsworth said as he got up from his chair and began to head towards the door. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth remained in the chair in disbelief. Then, he composed himself, stood up and shot an incendiary glare at Tinsley as he passed by the detective before storming out of the room, following his father’s lead. Tinsley exchanged quick glances with Holly, before he chuckled. </p><p> </p><p>“I believe we have some things to clear up here. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I owe you some explanations, “ Holly began dryly. “First off, I know Ricky Goldsworth is the White Wolf killer. “ </p><p> </p><p>“I suspected that much. You’ve been burning holes in his back since I got here. “</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t tell you from the start because I wanted to see if you could figure that much on your own first. I wanted you to prove your skills before anything. I do believe he’s your prime suspect, correct? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley nodded quietly. </p><p> </p><p>“However, even if I know it, I don’t have enough on him to give him life in prison, “ Holly continued. “Aside from the information we both got from the crime scenes, I don’t know much else, detective. “</p><p> </p><p>“Which is why you wanted me to dig up as much as possible. “</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly. I don’t think the mayor knows about it, but I do know he is one of the few people adamant about convicting the killer in this town, “ Holly continued. “Either way, if we get enough clues, it will become increasingly obvious to the public that Ricky did it. “</p><p> </p><p>“How did you know though? That Ricky Goldsworth did it? “</p><p> </p><p>“He made it clear to me at the beginning that he was the culprit. It’s similar to your incident this morning, where you saw his face but could not capture proof. I’m assuming that he’s the one who kidnapped you. “</p><p> </p><p>“That is correct, “ Tinsley remarked. “However, I do have quite a big piece of evidence on hand. I caught it a few days earlier in the Goldsworth residence. “</p><p> </p><p>“What is it, detective? “</p><p> </p><p>“I… “ Tinsley sighed, then looked at Holly with defeated eyes. “Actually, when I met Goldsworth yesterday, he proposed a deal to me. And no, I didn’t get bribed, but it is strange, Holly. He told me he wouldn’t stop me from investigating, as long as I do not turn in the evidence before it’s complete. Says he wants to buy time to figure out how to dispose of me. Judging from his behaviour, I think what I have is big, but still not enough. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly rested her chin on her hand, arms crossed as she gazed into the void pensively. “I have one question, detective. “</p><p> </p><p>“Yes? “</p><p> </p><p>“About that conversation we just had earlier. The one on justice. If we applied it to the White Wolf killer, would you still believe that more evidence is required to determine his sentence? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley paused, slightly surprised by his client’s question, but still decided to answer her. “As a general rule I would say that, but from my encounters with this man, I have a hunch he’s despicable enough to deserve life in prison. “ </p><p> </p><p>Holly met his gaze, her eyes scanning his face as though she was searching for a deeper answer. She then uncrossed her arms and leant back onto the wall. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to tell me right away what you’ve got, detective. I have faith in your moral compass, and if the White Wolf is willing to let you investigate him as much as you want, then so be it. As long as you do turn in your findings at the end of this case, you will have done your job, Sharp Eye. “</p><p> </p><p>“So you think there is no catch in his offer? Because I still think it’s fishy… “</p><p> </p><p>Holly sighed. “It’s complicated. But I do think the deal benefits us more than him. So yes, let’s play by his games and see how long he’ll last. Please do keep in mind you can always phone the police station in cases of emergency; I would hate to see a bright man like you vanish, detective. “</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Holly. “</p><p> </p><p>“No problem. Oh, and one more thing. I had some research done on John McFishe’s finances. Average man’s wealth, only odd thing was that he had recently deposited a grand into his account, shortly before his death. That’s the information I’ve got, if it can help you do your work, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you again. And about the mayor’s party… “</p><p> </p><p>“You should attend it, yes. I can’t make it because I have a few meetings on that day, but you might be able to get work done there, “ Holly replied. She glanced at the ticking watch on her wrist. “I need to get going now, there’s a court hearing at eleven. But I trust that you will be able to crack the case, Tinsley. See you around. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly turned towards the door, the clicks of her heels ringing inside the room. Before stepping out, she turned back one last time and glanced at the private investigator’s bunny pajamas and worn out trench coat. </p><p> </p><p>“Also, there will be quite a few upper class people attending, so if you need a proper suit, I can get you one for tomorrow. “ </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Cat and Mouse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The clinking of champagne glasses rang softly amidst an indistinguishable sea of quiet chattering and laughter. Men and women, fancily clad in freshly ironed suits and shiny extravagant dresses, conversed about in the vast garden of the Goldsworth estate. Perfectly trimmed bushes and forest green vines were adorned with banners and balloons coloured gold. Sunset orange and ocean blue flowers bloomed at the base of an immaculate ivory fountain, the gentle flow of which lulled the weary daylight to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>"Detective Tinsley! Pleased to see you could make it. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley turned around. The mayor greeted him with a firm handshake. Despite his usual imposing aura, Robert Goldsworth offered a warm and friendly smile that put the detective to ease. </p><p> </p><p>"Thank you for inviting me, sir. "</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, no need to thank me, young man, " the older man chuckled lightly. "This really isn't much. You do what you have to do. Although, do try to enjoy yourself as well. Dinner will be served at seven, and there's a cocktail bar on your left... "</p><p> </p><p>The mayor warmly gestured towards Tinsley's left as he briefly showed his guest around the garden. The private investigator glanced at the older man. The latter was dressed to the nines, but among a sea of formally dressed upperclassmen, he seemed like just the average man in a suit. Had one not known better, one could've mistaken the mayor as an average citizen, conversing casually of sun and rain. </p><p> </p><p>However, Tinsley could scarcely pay attention to the mayor's mundane tour. While he knew he was here to observe the crowd, he couldn't help but think about the irony of the situation, and feel bad for the mayor's unfortunate obliviousness. How would he react if he found out about the White Wolf's identity? Would he seek to forgive his son? Or would he want to disassociate from his accidentally deviant offspring? Why would the White Wolf want him to dig more into the story, and why would Holly want him to accept the man's too-good-to-be-true deal? </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was deeply puzzled by the whole situation. He looked at his beaming interlocutor, and could return nothing but pity. No matter the outcome, the mayor was going to be heartbroken, he thought. </p><p> </p><p>"And if there is anything, you can always come say hi, " Robert Goldsworth concluded, before waving goodbye at Tinsley and preparing to leave the detective's company.</p><p> </p><p>"Mr. Goldsworth, wait. I have a question. "</p><p> </p><p>"Ask away, detective. "</p><p> </p><p>"From what I've seen in your city, many people seem to want the White Wolf free. Yet, you do seem like one of the few people to support police efforts. I'm curious to know what your intentions are in looking for the culprit, sir. Hypothetically, if the killer were to be a person you cherish, what would your stance be? Please pardon me if I'm uttering nonsense. "</p><p> </p><p>Robert Goldsworth met Tinsley's gaze with quizzical emerald eyes, before looking into the crowd absently. He sighed and smiled sadly. </p><p> </p><p>"Let's assume your hypothetical situation is true, detective, " the mayor replied in a deep, calm voice. "Let's say that hypothetically, my son Ricky is the White Wolf killer. Naturally, any decent father would be immensely upset at the news, and I am no exception. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley carefully followed the older Goldsworth's gaze, and landed on a familiar head with gelled black hair in the crowd. Ricky Goldsworth, dressed to kill with his annoyingly dazzling white suit, was laughing cheerfully among a group of pretty ladies in full feather. The detective glanced back at the mayor, whose worn green eyes fixated on the smiling young man with an unreadable expression. </p><p> </p><p>"However, I do believe justice will protect my family and my city. It's as you have said before, detective. It's the little details that can exonerate or incarcerate a man. And if Lady Justice deems my son a threat to my community, " Robert Goldsworth declared. "Then so be it. I will honour her will, regardless of who the concerned person is. But as long as we do not know the whole story, I would prefer the truth to be spoken before judgment is exerted. " </p><p> </p><p>The Chicago mayor averted his eyes from his beloved son, and looked straight into Tinsley's eyes with a firm and confident gaze. </p><p> </p><p>"I hope that you will share my point of view, and that you hold off judgment before it is due, detective. I must go now; it was a pleasure to meet you again. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley nodded. He watched as the mayor turned towards his guests with a warm and cheerful smile once again, eager to enjoy the evening with his fellow citizens. </p><p> </p><p>Strange. </p><p> </p><p>Where to, now? Tinsley observed the lustrous multicoloured dresses that flew by as a group of women engaged in playful laughter, their polished jewelry probably worth more than Tinsley’s entire net worth. Luckily, the detective himself had also dressed for the occasion — and Holly insisted that he groomed his unruly hair before the event — but he didn’t really intend to sit back and relax tonight. He was on duty. </p><p> </p><p>And so C.C. Tinsley beelined through the crowd towards a certain beautiful young Goldsworth as the latter conversed with his groupies. The shorter man, upon noticing the tall detective, rolled his eyes and continued his conversation with the women. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley was having none of it. He decided to camp in the corner right next to the Goldsworth clique and watch his suspect, who was becoming increasingly irritated by the minute. Amidst the inane discussions about fashion and afternoon tea, Ricky Goldsworth’s visible discomfort was the only thing that amused the private investigator.</p><p> </p><p>Until the younger man finally snapped and excused himself from his crowd. He strode angrily towards Tinsley’s corner and pointed towards the detective accusingly. </p><p> </p><p>“What game are you playing here, Tinsley?! “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, doing my job? “ Tinsley responded flatly. </p><p> </p><p>“Listen here, jackass, “ Ricky approached the taller man and threatened in a low voice. “I know we have our deal, but now's not the time. I don’t want to see your stupid face anywhere near me. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual, Goldsworth. It’s not as if I want to know more about how ‘that satin green swing dress really compliments her form well, and a 24-carat diamond necklace would be the cherry on top,’” Tinsley mimicked mockingly in a high-pitched tone. </p><p> </p><p>“Get the hell out of my sight, or I’ll make sure you do. “</p><p> </p><p>“Spoken like a true spoiled brat. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, because you think you hold the higher ground here? " Ricky scoffed. "For fuck's sake, this is a PARTY, Tinsley, and you're watching me like a creepy boogeyman! Ever heard of enjoying the party and leaving business aside for just ONE night? “</p><p> </p><p>"Ever heard of not murdering people? " Tinsley replied, not missing a beat.</p><p> </p><p>"Why you- "</p><p> </p><p>“Ladies and gentlemen. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky turned around. Robert Goldsworth’s smooth and calming voice echoed through the speakers. His father was standing on the stage podium, a microphone in his hands. The younger Goldsworth shot a spiteful glare at the detective, as though he was saying “we’ll settle this later, “ and stormed off. Tinsley shrugged, and turned his attention to the stage as the mayor spoke. </p><p> </p><p>“I would simply like to say thank you all for joining me in this special evening, and I welcome you to this ball with open arms. Each and every one of you are valued members of our society, and deserve rightful reward and recognition. Please consider this a celebration of your continued efforts for our city’s progress. Chicago isn’t perfect, but without you, it would not be where it is. Dinner will begin shortly, after which the dance floor will be open to all. Thank you once again, and enjoy! “</p><p> </p><p>The crowd vigorously applauded and cheered for their mayor’s inspiring speech, and began to flow towards the dining tables at the back of the garden. Tinsley followed their lead, and sat at the corner of an empty table of twelve. However, it didn’t take long before the detective found himself some companions seated next to him. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello, good sir! What is your name? “ Tinsley’s table neighbour greeted with a chipper tone. This was a blonde haired woman who wore a shimmery yellow dress. She offered Tinsley a wide smile with her wine red lipstick and her perfectly well-aligned pearly whites. </p><p> </p><p>Should he opt for a false identity? The detective pondered for a split second. </p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley. Pleased to meet you. “</p><p> </p><p>No need for that. He already knew the White Wolf. </p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Tinsley! It’s very nice to meet you on this lovely evening. My name’s Clarissa Lee, and this is my husband, Matthew Lee, “ the middle-aged woman gestured towards the tall blonde-haired man seated facing her. </p><p> </p><p>“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Tinsley, “ the man named Matthew Lee extended his hand towards the detective for a firm handshake. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Dr. Fear is here! Good evening, Dr. Fear! “ Clarissa Lee waved enthusiastically at a distant figure. Dr. Fear was seated at a separate table. The wise doctor turned his eyes towards Tinsley’s table, and nodded as he smiled warmly. Then, he went back to conversing with his table full of guests. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s Dr. Fear, Mr. Tinsley, “ Clarissa Lee nudged the detective as she rambled excitedly. “He did so much for my late grandfather, took care of him so well. He really is a pillar of our community. “</p><p> </p><p>“You know who else is a pillar of our community? “ a gruff male voice chimed in. “The White Wolf. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh come on Henry, let’s not be a party-pooper here now, shall we? See, here’s a wonderful squid ink linguini with a side of tuna tartare. It’s exquisite! “ a hoarse female voice exclaimed in response. Tinsley looked in the direction of the voices. It was a bickering couple in their 50s, seated on the other end of the table. </p><p> </p><p>“Henry’s right though, the Chelsea Stalker had it coming for him! Serves him right for wronging my poor sister Melissa, “ Clarissa shouted, seemingly uninhibited. “All hail the White Wolf! “</p><p> </p><p>“See, Martha? Finally a voice of reason at this wretched table, “ Henry muttered as he dug into his plate. His grumpy expression soon brightened up as he brought the silver fork to his chapped lips. “My, this linguini really is delicious! “</p><p> </p><p>“I told you so! “</p><p> </p><p>“Are you new in town, Mr. Tinsley? “ Matthew Lee quietly asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, me? “ Tinsley responded, not knowing how to reply. The linguini had to be the best thing he’s tasted all year. Rich people and their fancy palates, he cursed. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s true, we’ve never seen you around here! “ Clarissa added, her voice full of bright inflections and energy. Such a contrast to Tinsley’s generally calm and tired appearance. </p><p> </p><p>“I, uh, yeah, “ the detective hesitantly answered. Judging from his neighbours’ distaste for the White Wolf investigations, he figured it was wiser not to ruffle their feathers too much. </p><p> </p><p>“You must not know the things that happened in the past year then, “ Matthew mused. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, what happened? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Haha, well, our city has always been a bit of a wild card, some would say, “ Mr. Lee laughed. “Robberies, murders, the whole package. We’ve had quite a few serial killers as well, and unfortunately my lovely wife’s sister passed away as a result. “</p><p> </p><p>“I am sorry to hear that. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t worry, what’s past is past. After all, the White Wolf is here now. He’s brought my sister revenge, “ Mrs. Lee smiled faintly as she reassured Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>“The police department though, lots left to be desired, “ her husband added. “Ever since they lost a bunch of well-respected officers, there has only been buffoons in that building. Madame attorney and Mayor being the exceptions, but then Mayor passed away not long ago. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley stopped chewing his food. “Mayor? “</p><p> </p><p>Husband and wife burst out in laughter before a very confused C.C. Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>Clarissa Lee could barely catch her breath as she clutched her stomach, wheezing uncontrollably. “Oh, poor Mr. Tinsley, he probably thought we were talking about Mr. Goldsworth! “ </p><p> </p><p>“No, we’re not talking about the city mayor, “ Matthew Lee clarified, barely containing his sheer amusement. “Mayor was a very bright assistant working at the police department. He helped uncover a drug ring recently, really an intelligent man. “</p><p> </p><p>“Unfortunate that he did what he did, and the mob went after him. What a shame truly, “ the blonde woman sighed. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you lot over there! Let’s talk about some more cheery stuff, alright? This is dinner, for heaven’s sake! “ Martha exclaimed angrily from the other side of the table. Her sudden outburst caught Tinsley’s impromptu chatter party off guard. Mr. and Mrs. Lee glanced at each other sheepishly, before digging into their plates. The detective did the same and stared at his own dish. There was a moment of relative silence as the group quietly enjoyed their succulent linguini. </p><p> </p><p>Clarissa Lee suddenly cleared her throat. “… The rich briny flavour in this pasta is immensely delightful, Matthew. “</p><p> </p><p>“Right? And the slight acidity of the cherry tomatoes and the lemon zest just compliments it so well! “</p><p><br/>
“… “</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Dinner time was rather uneventful. Despite the complexity of the meal that had been served, Tinsley didn’t think he could stomach listening to the Lee family gushing over the “extra touch of truffle oil on that salad” for another hot minute. It made him think of poor Buddy he’d left back home. He had fed the kitten prior to leaving, but he would’ve much preferred to enjoy his meal with his fluffy friend. </p><p> </p><p>Whereas his table companions hurried off to the dance floor, Tinsley went back to his corner, grabbing a glass of beer on his way. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Ever heard of enjoying the party and leaving business aside for just ONE night? "</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hardly remembered the last time he'd taken a break. As a man who considered himself essentially married to work, he never really was interested in lavish lifestyles. There wasn't really a point to it.</p><p> </p><p>Assuming he'd even enjoy painting the town red, it wasn't as though he had anyone to share those pleasant experiences with. As far as he knew, C.C. Tinsley's best befitting role in such an event was that of a spectator.</p><p> </p><p>And so, he quietly watched as the mayor’s guests, each more extravagantly besuited than the other, waltzed gracefully through the garden with their dolled up partners. He nursed his drink as a young couple smiled into each other’s faces, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears, and exchanging gentle yet lustful kisses as they embraced each other in their elegant choreography for two. Nothing else in the world mattered in the eyes of the smitten couple as they enjoyed a moment that belonged only to them; a moment they would reminisce twenty years from now and a nostalgic smile would still emerge from their faces worn by the trials of time. Nothing mattered in the eyes of the besotted couple, who most certainly would spend the rest of their lives with each other until old age did them apart. In the midst of their passionate waltz, the crimson red rose that was their love blossomed blissfully. </p><p> </p><p>Love was a beautiful thing to witness. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley could only dream of such a life. Because C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be. If the young doves’ love was a red rose, the detective’s sentiments better resembled a weary camellia, withering and weeping for wants long past. </p><p> </p><p>He shook his head. Where was Ricky Goldsworth? The detective’s eyes wandered through the crowd, which consisted mostly of couples. When he finally landed on the devil-eyed libertine, the latter was spinning around a dark-haired woman, her black skirt twirling in full bloom. The man whose eyes rivalled the beauty of black pearls was now laughing wholeheartedly, and C.C. Tinsley didn’t think he had ever seen this sculpture-like face beaming in such a genuine fashion, as though the young Goldsworth had never seen a hint of tragedy in his lifetime. Come to think of it, carnations did suit Ricky Goldsworth. Prideful yet beautiful, while also reeking of death and misfortune. Two-faced beauty. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley felt a dull emptiness taking over in the pit of his stomach. He thought of Buddy. Why did he even think he'd even remotely enjoy a night like this? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yeah, no thanks. I'll pass on the offer. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he should just head home. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>“Careful Fran, you almost stepped on my foot! “</p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m sorry for wearing heels! They make my feet miserable! “ </p><p> </p><p>Ricky laughed as he twirled his dancing partner once again. The dark-haired woman glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re enjoying this, “ Francesca remarked. </p><p> </p><p>“Do I not have the right to? “</p><p> </p><p>“Are you enjoying the dance or my suffering here, Ricky? “</p><p> </p><p>“You got me, “ the young Goldsworth chuckled. “But, I also enjoy dancing with you, my dear friend. “</p><p> </p><p>“Flattering. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky and Fran smiled as their synchronized footsteps followed the motions of Tchaikovsky’s music. Normally, guests would be dancing with their spouses or dates, but seeing as the two friends were single, they figured they’d enjoy each other’s company for a bit. Plus, twirling Fran in her flowy black dress was simply a fun opportunity Ricky couldn’t pass on. </p><p> </p><p>“Speaking of which, have you met your new friend yet? “ </p><p> </p><p>“What new friend? Since when do I have a new friend, Fran? “</p><p> </p><p>Francesca approached Ricky’s ear and whispered faintly, “Cee-Cee Tins- “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck off! He’s not my friend! “ Ricky snapped. </p><p> </p><p>The older woman couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m just kidding, Ricky. But really, maybe you should keep an eye on him, in case he tries funny stuff. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted to think of was the smelly tall snoop who threatened to take away everything from him. It had frankly been a rough week. His beautiful Porsche had been ruined, his murder plans had been threatened by this nosy detective with vitriol for a mouth, and his plans of bribing AND murdering said detective had been thrown out of the window. To add insult to injury, his own dad decided to invite this sack of bad luck to the city ball. He really just wanted to enjoy a relaxing evening for once. </p><p> </p><p>But Ricky couldn’t help but quickly scan through the crowd for a certain private investigator. Much to his surprise, misery incarnate was walking towards the bar, then the fountain, then… the garden’s exit. </p><p> </p><p>“What the… “</p><p> </p><p>“What is it, Ricky? “</p><p> </p><p>“Sharp Eye’s doing the Irish goodbye. “</p><p> </p><p>“Not much of a party man, huh? “ Fran mused. </p><p> </p><p>“Shhh. Actually Fran, I think I’ll go, “ Ricky interrupted. “I need to see what he’s up to. “</p><p> </p><p>“If you say so, Golden boy, “ the woman coolly shrugged her shoulders and stepped away. “I’ll see you later then, don’t make a mess! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky rolled his eyes as his friend giggled and waved him goodbye. He then rapidly shifted through the crowd and made his way towards the exit. Luckily, he didn’t encounter anyone who would stop him for longer than necessary. He'd be damned if he ran into Samantha. </p><p> </p><p>As he stepped out of the Goldsworth residence, Ricky spotted a tall, brown-haired figure gazing at the ground as he walked to the corner of the street. He combed his hair and got an ironed suit for once, Ricky thought. The grudging Goldsworth surreptitiously followed the unsuspecting detective as the latter kept walking through the streets of night time Chicago. Ricky almost tripped over a stone on the sidewalk; he cursed under his breath as he hid in an alleyway, waiting for his target to stop looking behind and keep walking. </p><p> </p><p>They passed through Ricky’s district, then walked through Mayor’s neighbourhood. It had been a clear blue night, and the pair walked under the pale light of a half-moon unobscured by passing clouds. It was a long walk, but Ricky understood why the detective would walk this far; had Ricky not been spying on his enemy, he too, would’ve enjoyed this quiet scenery. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky ducked behind an alleyway as C.C. Tinsley fumbled nonchalantly through his keys and opened the front door to a small, grey building. All the lights of the windows were shut, until one window lit up on the second floor. A small, black cat was perched behind a couch at the window. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was just going home. He wasn’t going to report the White Wolf. Of course he wasn’t. And Ricky felt incredibly stupid for walking this far just to watch the detective go home. </p><p> </p><p>Oh well, at least he knew where Sharp Eye lived now, the Goldsworth heir thought. Could come in useful if the detective decided to throw some more caustic remarks towards Lucy. Hands in pocket, Ricky began to walk back towards the direction he came from. </p><p> </p><p>But then he turned his head, and glanced at the second-floor window one last time. A familiar brown-haired figure came up to the window and picked up the little kitten into his long arms. With a newfound curiosity, Ricky watched the soft coffee-coloured look and gentle smile on Tinsley’s pale face as he cuddled his little companion. The small kitten was visibly well groomed and taken care of, an image that clashed with his owner’s usual unkempt look. Ricky could tell C.C. Tinsley was caring for the cat with a level of tenderness and kindness not many were capable of; at least not in the younger man’s book. Ricky suddenly remembered his mother’s gentle smile as she took care of him in his youth. In a very strange and twisted way, the detective’s soft expression somehow reminded him of Lucy Goldsworth. </p><p> </p><p>Hell, how dare this guy remind him of his mother? C.C. Tinsley was the worst! Ricky cursed under his breath and promptly left. He did not need to see more of this eyesore. How absolutely irritating!</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he should just head home. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>no one:<br/>absolutely no one:<br/>ricky, looking at tins take care of his cat: he looks like my mom</p><p>also tins cosplayed as the watcher for ten (10) minutes at the party you can't change my mind</p><p>100 hits and more than one comment :O thank you so much for the encouraging support!! my dumbass finally realized i was moderating comments for some reason so i disabled it. you're welcome, feel free to roast my lovechild now- i mean my fic. feel free to roast my fic. ahem.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Non Compos Mentis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"How did the ball go? "</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was twiddling his fingers as he stared at the bright marble floor of Holly's office. </p><p> </p><p>How did the ball go? If the detective were to be honest, the ball itself was... uneventful. The mayor was welcoming, the garden was extravagant, and the food was haute culinary snobbery that might as well be served on a golden platter. Yet, Tinsley somehow didn't really want to recall that night; the mere thought of whatever happened between dinner and his going home was inexplicably unpleasant. </p><p> </p><p>"Well, cat's got your tongue? "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could hear the gentle fluttering of pages as his client arranged them neatly into carefully labeled manila files. He gazed into Holly's immaculately white floor, and thought of Ricky Goldsworth's immaculately white suit, how the sleeve cuffs perfectly framed the younger man's graceful wrists, how the bright collar contrasted with those dark eyes that softly whispered danger into Tinsley's ear. He shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>“… Nothing much. I spoke with a few townspeople at dinner. Didn’t get much information out of it. Goldsworth… didn’t do anything out of the line either- "</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t asking about the case, Tinsley. You do not need to report everything back to me; after all, you have a deal. I trust in your abilities. I was simply hoping you’d enjoy the ball a bit, since you had the opportunity to. “</p><p> </p><p>“About that… I left during the dance. “</p><p> </p><p>There was a silence. Tinsley lifted his head to meet Holly’s gaze. Her azure blue eyes had narrowed inquisitively at first, but then softened defeatedly as she dropped the files onto her table. </p><p> </p><p>“I should’ve seen that one coming, “ the blonde-haired woman let out absently. “You do not like prying eyes after all. However, it is an admirable strength, detective; to be emotionally detached from one’s surroundings. Emotional over-investment can bring one a plague of woes. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could definitely agree with that. He could think of a couple of scenarios that would prove his client right. Yet, for some reason, the detective’s curiosity had been piqued by the district attorney’s sudden philosophical remark. </p><p> </p><p>“Has… that ever happened to you? “</p><p> </p><p>“There are certain details that I do not freely give out, detective. You can probably understand that there is professional confidentiality involved in my situation. “</p><p> </p><p>“Pardon me for being intrusive. Force of habit… “</p><p> </p><p>Holly sighed. “I do trust you, detective, and perhaps we could discuss this elsewhere. There are certain individuals in this building that I do not trust. What I can tell you though, is that I hold law and order above all, including my emotions and the people I cherish. Ever since I stepped foot in the world of justice, I’ve sworn to honour those values. It’s not an easy task, Tinsley. You will alienate many people, and it can be a heartbreaking thing. But at the end of the day, what brings me peace of mind, is the knowledge that I’ve done what is just. “</p><p> </p><p>“It is what makes you so brilliant in your work, Holly, “ Tinsley remarked. </p><p> </p><p>“You flatter me too much, Tinsley, “ Holly chuckled. “But enough about moral musings. I called you in today to inform you that I will be out of town in a few days. I will be back a week after. In the meantime, feel free to drop by my office to consult various case files that may aid you in your work. As you can see, I am organizing them so that it will be easier for you to sift through them. You may even take over my office if you wish, but I highly doubt you would. “</p><p> </p><p>“Touché, “ Tinsley laughed lightly. “Thank you very much for all of the resources, Holly. “</p><p> </p><p>And Tinsley meant it. It wasn’t often that he got this much assistance from his clients. Holly Horsley was, in every sense of the term, exceptional in her operations. </p><p> </p><p>“Pleasure is mine, detective. I think it goes without saying, but just make sure not to lose the White Wolf cards, or any other piece of evidence you may come across. And by the way, that drawer's out of bounds. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley slowly and gently closed the wooden door behind him. He gazed down the empty hallway of the precinct, a hallway he would have to walk through more often in the days to come. Not that he was complaining though; if it meant more information for the case, then all the better. </p><p> </p><p>Historically, C.C. Tinsley had always preferred cases in his hometown. He was able to live in quiet peace and help the people around him achieve closure. C.C. Tinsley thought he wished for nothing more. He wasn’t sure why he had accepted the White Wolf case. Perhaps it had been Holly’s convincing speech and confident demeanour in his office. Or perhaps it was simply a hidden curiosity. Either way, he had expected the worst case scenario: a serial killer case, negative press on the police, his name dragged through the mud, criminals taunting him, coworkers judging him… He couldn’t exactly say none of that happened, but it wasn’t as bad as he thought. He had his client’s unwavering support, and was afforded privacy he never imagined he could’ve had in such a big case. And for a second there, the detective thought that he could put up with the quirks of the city. </p><p> </p><p>An image of Ricky Goldsworth’s genuine smile as he waltzed with the lady in black flashed across Tinsley’s mind, and the detective felt an empty pit in his stomach again. Who was he kidding? Life in the city was for the extravagant. Tinsley was no extravagant man. </p><p> </p><p>“Detective Tinsley! It’s nice seeing you around here! “ </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley turned around, and was greeted by the warm smile of Banjo McClintock. The officer had just exited his office and was holding a small gift box. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello, officer McClintock, “ Tinsley greeted. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh please, you may call me Banjo, “ the shorter officer chuckled. “What brings you to the station today? “</p><p> </p><p>“I just had a meeting with Ms. Horsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Holly! Yeah, I have to ask her about my vacation as well in a bit. You see, my 10-year anniversary with my wife is coming up soon and i want to celebrate it the best way I can with her. I love her so much, detective Tinsley, you have no idea. She’s a wonderful woman and I really just want the best for her. “</p><p> </p><p>As Banjo continued to gush over his “lovely wife”, Tinsley glanced at the small red box that lied in the officer’s hands. He pointed hesitantly at the box. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m assuming this would be her gift? “</p><p> </p><p>“Bingo, detective! Expensive as hell, but totally worth it! I would do anything for this woman. You know, when I proposed to her back in the day, I got her the best diamond ring I could find in the city. Crazy expensive, and I couldn’t afford it at all. But you know, sometimes when you want to express your love to someone, you go extra lengths for them. Earn some extra bread on the side, no matter the line of work. “ Banjo pulled Tinsley closer and began to whisper. “Between you and me, I used to sell drugs to make it happen; I don’t do it anymore, for the record, but that’s how far I was willing to go to make her happy. Other people might hate me for it, but to me, she’s my everything. Sometimes, love just works mysteriously like that. “</p><p> </p><p>Banjo’s words rang crystal clear through the private investigator’s ears. While the officer continued to speak of his wife, a lengthy hypothesis was forming inside Tinsley’s head. </p><p> </p><p>John McFishe and Mayor were neighbours. Mayor probably was killed by the Mafia, by all accounts. Yet, no one was ever indicted for his murder. Thus, the Mafia most likely bought John McFishe’s silence on Mayor’s death. In exchange, McFishe could afford Czajka’s ring and new bank deposits. </p><p> </p><p>It all clicked. </p><p> </p><p>“Detective Tinsley? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, sorry Banjo. Yes. Congratulations on your anniversary, I hope your talk goes well with Holly. I have to go now, let’s chat another time, yeah? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, okay, thank you, and sure I guess, “ Banjo responded, a bit confused by the private eye’s suddenly strange behaviour. He shook it off and began to walk towards Holly’s office. “Later then! “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley stormed out of the police department. McFishe wasn’t innocent. <em>McFishe wasn’t innocent.</em> But why such a small case? Was Ricky Goldsworth going to kill increasingly innocent people? Or was that still a hard limit for the young serial killer? </p><p> </p><p>“Might as well test it out, “ the detective muttered as he hopped into his car and started the engine.  </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Ricky had been tracing delicate floral contours with his emerald green ink pen when he heard loud knocks to his office door. He sighed in mild annoyance. </p><p> </p><p>“Who is it? I'm bus- “</p><p> </p><p>The young Goldsworth could hardly finish his sentence when his door flung wide open, revealing a tall detective huffing from what appeared to be strenuous exercise. Ricky raised an eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey Ricky Goldsworth! Fancy stabbing me a few times? “ C.C. Tinsley shouted boldly as he leaned into the doorframe, still recovering from running through the Goldsworth estate. </p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck has gotten into you, Sharpie? Finally got a stroke? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Just shut up and answer me, you dickhead! Are you going to kill me or not? “</p><p> </p><p>“Do I have a reason to? “ </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What the hell, did the private investigator just go insane? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky heard the detective’s low chuckle as a smile began to form on the taller man’s lips. With a confident tone, Tinsley approached Ricky’s desk and stated: “I’ve got you figured out. Your venomous threats are all empty, because you won’t kill me. You don’t intend to kill me, because as much as I make your hackles rise, I am innocent. “ </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and what about it? Did you seriously come all the way here just to tell me this? “</p><p> </p><p>“Do you get off on your twisted sense of justice, Goldsworth? Think you’re a god among men or something? An angel of death? The vigilante superhero this town doesn’t deserve but needs oh-so-desperately? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky snapped. “Aren’t you just the same, Tinsley? You’re just holding more pretentious horseshit values like justice, law and order or whatever other empty morals you uphold. You’re just as disgusting as Horsley, man. What do you achieve in honouring those useless things? That’s right, nothing. I’m doing more for Chicago than your little friends ever could! “</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t kid yourself, “ Tinsley scoffed. “You and I are leagues different. At least I don’t kill people and disappoint my mother on the dai- “</p><p> </p><p>In a split second, Ricky grabbed Tinsley’s tie and violently yanked it towards him as he glared at the detective. “Don’t test me, detective. I may lay off of you because of our little deal, but you’re not getting away with continuously slandering my dear mother, “ the shorter man growled. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley gulped as he felt the tightness around his neck and Goldsworth’s intense glare. Their faces were mere inches apart. The detective could feel his suspect’s hot breath against his lips, and that heat traveled directly south of his leather belt. <em>Inappropriate timing</em>, he silently warned his body. After all, if Ricky Goldsworth ever noticed, heavens know what torment the detective would have to go through. He gritted his teeth and quickly averted the shorter man’s deep dark eyes. In fact, he didn’t want to look at Ricky Goldsworth at all; his alluring gaze, his perfect sun kissed smooth skin, his tight biceps as they clenched to hold Tinsley’s tie, his defined collarbone that lead inside his shirt collar… </p><p> </p><p>No, Tinsley didn’t want to see any of that. Ricky Goldsworth was annoyingly attractive, but the detective remembered this was a deranged murderer who might just strangle him for a test run one might as well have called lunacy. Tinsley exhaled deeply. He wanted to focus on work. </p><p> </p><p>There were still so many questions left unanswered. </p><p> </p><p>“John McFishe isn’t even up to par with your other victims. Why him? He's just a guy who got bribed. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky scoffed. “You clearly don’t know enough. “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just making sure you’re not graduating to innocents, Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>"That's not up to you to decide, " Ricky laughed lowly. </p><p> </p><p>"Who's it up to, then? The Convenient Murder Yacht Club? Mr. Ricky "Short Stack" Goldsworth whose vertically challenged stature can only be rivaled by his temper? Mama Goldsworth's ghostly whims whispering, 'choo choo pickle pie, kiss your lungs goodbye? '"</p><p> </p><p>“You do have some guts, detective. Would be a shame if someone pulled them out for you. “</p><p> </p><p>“You wouldn’t. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky lifted his fist, then dropped it as quickly as he formed it. He loosened his grip on the detective’s tie. This tall prick was really beginning to get on his bloody nerves. How was this the same guy who cuddled his cat like it was the most precious thing in the world? Then again, Ricky wasn’t any less of a two-faced man, and he knew it. He brushed his index finger around the cold, metallic pen in his free hand, then clenched his fist around it. </p><p> </p><p>“Scram! I am a busy man, Sharpie, I don’t have the time to entertain your ridiculous mockeries. “ </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley laughed and began to make his way towards the door, seeing as he had far overstayed his welcome. He could still feel some remaining heat in the South pole. Tinsley subtly slid his hands into his coat pockets and shuffled them to cover himself more. He quickly glanced at Ricky Goldsworth, who held his head in his hands as he stared into a pale green drawing on the desk. Dozens of confident pen strokes formed an intricate bouquet of blossoms. The detective let out a breath of relief. </p><p> </p><p>“Right, have fun drawing your little cabbages. “</p><p> </p><p>“Those are CARNATIONS, you uncultured swine! “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled. Guess he didn’t have to worry about Ricky Goldsworth after all. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>holly meant to say, loose lips sink ships, but that would've been out of character for her</p><p>somewhere in my mind i think to myself that i named this fic carnations because i still can't get that cursed cargument out of my head</p><p>ANYWAYS thank you for reading, please consider commenting or leaving me a kudos, and i'll see you next monday!! next week's chapters gonna be a lil heavy but i think it's a good plot progression as well, tired of whipping out my nonexistent dictionary of rare insults for the bois</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A Life of Solitude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW!!!! internalized homophobia, f slur + various other homophobic slurs. consider yourself warned!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Detective. It’s a pleasure to meet you again. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley got out of his seat and shook hands firmly with the wise pepper-haired doctor who had stepped into the examination room. Dr. Fear met his gaze with dark yet warm eyes and offered him a welcoming smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Pleasure is mine, doctor, “ Tinsley greeted politely. </p><p> </p><p>“So, what brings you to my office today? “ </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced at his notepad filled with loose scribbles, and firmed his grip around the polished black pen in his right hand. </p><p> </p><p>“I know this may seem completely out of the blue, doctor. But I was wondering if you knew anything about the death of someone named ‘Mayor’. Not the mayor of Chicago, but a man named ‘Mayor’. “</p><p> </p><p>Doctor Fear brought his fingers to his chin, stroking his trimmed beard pensively. </p><p> </p><p>“Mayor… Hmm… The name does ring a bell. He wasn’t one of my patients, but I did see him on the news not too long ago. I believe that’s the neighbour of the last White Wolf victim, correct? “</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly. Have you heard anything about this man’s involvements and death, doctor? “</p><p> </p><p>“I only know what most of us know about him. The media doesn’t extensively cover crimes beyond White Wolf deaths recently, and unfortunately that is also a collateral of the serial killer’s vicious deeds. I don’t think anyone was convicted for Mayor’s death because it was so poorly known to the public, “ Dr. Fear sighed. </p><p> </p><p>“May I ask what was in the news? I haven’t been around here for a long time, so I don’t actually know anything about Mayor, other than the fact that he was McFishe’s neighbour, “ Tinsley admitted, scratching his head embarrassedly. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Pardon me for assuming things, “ the white-coated doctor chuckled. “I can certainly fill you in on it. I know Mayor worked for the Chicago Police Department — essentially, he was in your field. He was found in his apartment... I think he sustained multiple shot wounds around his neck and mouth area. Rumour has it that the Mafia ordered a hit on him for exposing illegal activities. They probably wanted his head for speaking up. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley scribbled rapidly into his notepad, the skidding black letters each more hurried than the other to catch up with the physician’s story. This was already more information than he’d ever gotten on Mayor from anyone else. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s unfortunate that nobody has been indicted for his death yet, “ Dr. Fear sighed. </p><p> </p><p>“I agree, doctor, it really is, “ Tinsley nodded. “Thank you for the valuable information though. Your help is tremendously insightful and appreciated. I am fairly certain it will contribute to finally solving the White Wolf case. “</p><p> </p><p>The bearded man smiled warmly. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m the one who should be thanking you, detective. You are quite the sharp man, and I am happy to see you devote your best abilities for the well-being of my fellow citizens. “</p><p> </p><p>The tall private investigator chuckled nervously as he averted the doctor’s firm gaze. “I am simply doing what I can here… “</p><p> </p><p>“Speaking of which, and pardon me if I’m being intrusive, how are you adjusting to the city so far? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Things are okay, I guess, I’m mostly here to do my job, “ Tinsley shrugged. What more was there to say? He was here to solve murders, nothing more than that. Put that flirty little scamp behind bars, and go home. </p><p> </p><p>“You seem to be missing your home, detective, “ Dr. Fear remarked quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. </p><p> </p><p>“… Yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>He looked at his shoes. He had worn mismatched socks again. How embarrassing, he thought as he brought his fingers to his disorderly hair, and scratched his head lightly. </p><p> </p><p>But the doctor did not seem to mind. “Do you have people you miss back there? “</p><p> </p><p>Did he? </p><p> </p><p>“Not really. “ </p><p> </p><p>The detective could feel the older man’s inquisitive hickory eyes burn holes into his very core. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry if this is too personal, detective. But I think your eyes tell me otherwise. You know, a soul can only hold in so much before it breaks. It would pain me to see that befall such a bright man like you. “</p><p> </p><p>There was a moment of silence. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sighed. </p><p> </p><p>The doctor was right; that was a lie. He did miss people. But <em>people</em> were just dull, faded memories in the back of his mind. So why did it matter? He had long resigned himself to a life of solitude. It wasn’t even a debate anymore. To the celibate detective, it was but the price he had to pay to redeem himself. </p><p> </p><p>“But if you are not comfortable with such a discussion, that is fine by me too. I am simply trying to help you, “ Dr. Fear continued, the peaceful tone of his voice still as a mirror that reflected back to Tinsley’s deeper memories. “It’s just that your eyes betray your loneliness, detective. From experience with my patience, feelings of yearning and nostalgia can fester if not resolved. Missing a deceased loved one without going through the stages of grief, for instance, can lead to a lifelong, aimless pursuit of closure. “</p><p> </p><p>Deceased loved one. <em>My loved ones sure are deceased as hell</em>, the detective thought, bitterly shaking his head. To him, there was no such thing as a happy life filled with living loved ones. Tinsley could only dream of such a life. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be. It’d be pointless to spend lifetime searching for the people he cherished. Ghosts weren’t real. He didn’t care enough anymore. </p><p> </p><p>“I do think I’ve extended this conversation far beyond your level of comfort, detective, “ Dr. Fear chuckled, lightheartedly to mask his slight worry. “I truly apologize if this was too much. If ever you change your mind though, I am willing to offer you a listening ear. “</p><p> </p><p>“Duly noted, doctor. “ </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Probably won’t. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The walk from the hospital was more difficult than Tinsley had imagined. </p><p> </p><p>A grandmother was kindly conversing with her grandson on the bench. A young man was smiling ear-to-ear as he gently held his girlfriend’s hand, interlacing their fingers and playfully guiding her through the passing crowds. A group of middle-aged women were laughing over some mundane matters as they sat around a coffee shop table. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was walking on the busy Chicago sidewalk, alone. </p><p> </p><p>A wilted camellia lost in a blooming prairie. A reluctant extra in a movie he didn’t belong. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to remember anything from the past. Usually, he could contain the unpleasant memories to a dull ache within his heart. He’d focus on raising Buddy like his own son, and working relentlessly on his cases. He’d thrive in his career, but retreat as soon as attachment reared its ugly head on the horizon. It was simple. </p><p> </p><p>One, it was convenient for his work, as no criminal would be able to threaten him with hostages. Well, with the exception of Goldsworth. But Holly did green-light the truce, so that didn’t count. </p><p> </p><p>Two, C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be. C.C. Tinsley was a man who had long resigned himself to a life of solitude. </p><p> </p><p>Was it lonely? Tinsley would be lying to himself if he said it wasn’t. He recalled those young and enamoured couples dancing to grand romantic pieces at the mayor’s party, their bodies intertwining in an intimate embrace. He’d always get that empty feeling in the gut, reminding him of things that were not. The same empty feeling that festered in his entire being right now. </p><p> </p><p>But to C.C. Tinsley, the void was a kinder companion than whatever can of worms lurked in the back of his mind. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You disgust me. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He remembered Dr. Fear’s wise words about his loved ones. He doubted he wasn’t over them. If there was anyone who was clearly not over a deceased loved one, it would be Ricky Goldsworth. The detective still remembered how fired up the attractive criminal became whenever he mentioned his deceased mother. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“THAT WAS MY MOTHER’S GRAVE, YOU INSENSITIVE DIPSHIT! ” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley shook his head and chuckled to himself. Goldsworth’s smooth and sweet voice cracked as it rang through his memories clear as day. He entered a bar, sat at the corner of the room and ordered some beer. He didn't even like bars. Why now? Tinsley didn't know either. Having finished his investigations for the day, he figured he might as well have some liquid courage and forget today’s… upsetting events. </p><p> </p><p>But he couldn’t help but wonder, in a twisted way, if the serial killer — whose golden complexion and butter-cutting jawline courted perfection to an infuriating degree — would’ve understood his misery. After all, he too, had a deceased mother he cherished. Would he understand this dull feeling of emptiness that persists through time, and never really goes away? Did he also feel left behind when she parted ways with her mortal coil? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You... You are not my son. No son of mine is a nancy boy! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Did he… also understand the dilemma of being that kind of man? Has he also experienced the pain of breaking his mother’s heart, of being shunned by his dearest people? After all, he did flirt with him on their first encounter. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley closed his eyes and slowly brought the cool glass to his lips. A burning, bitter gulp washed down his throat. </p><p> </p><p>He must understand, right? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Get the hell out of my house, you filthy degenerate! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Why can’t you just be normal? “ a female voice sobbed uncontrollably.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or maybe not. </p><p> </p><p>He had remembered the sunkissed man’s playful dance a few days ago. He remembered that guileless smile, larger and brighter than the bloody sun. There was no way Ricky Goldsworth would understand him. That man could have anyone if he wanted to. He lived a posh life within the Goldsworth mansion. Hell, he even had a fan club comprised of women and <em>nothing but women</em>. How could he possibly understand? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You don’t have to lie to me anymore, Charlie. I’ve seen the way you look at him. You never looked at me the same way you look at him. We can’t keep lying to ourselves like this anymore. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“That’s right, you’re just a FAG! An unnatural FAILURE! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The detective’s frowned and shook his head. His face fell sullen as he gazed at his half-empty beer glass with a glazed look across his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He had been briefly delusional. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“And you dare speak of love? “ a young female voice scoffed. “You’re not destined for love, honey, and never will! You’ve forsaken God, and this is the price you pay! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>That’s right. C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be. Love, or whatever that might be, belonged to the past. The blood-stained petals had wilted long ago. </p><p> </p><p>The tall investigator shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>A man began to shout insults at another at the bar counter. A commotion, probably. Tinsley had been used to hearing the slurs that began to fly spitefully around the house, and he’d usually just lower his gaze and shrug his shoulders. Perhaps it was self-preservation. But they were also right. He hated the way he focused absently on his male friend’s strong, muscular arms and broad shoulders; he despised the way he gawked at Ricky Goldsworth’s fruitful lips, or Ricky Goldsworth’s razor-sharp jaw, supported gracefully by the twining cords of muscle that smoothly stretched into his collarbone. He loathed his own desire to gently hold a man’s hand the way one would with a lady, yearning for a simple romance with the wrong people. </p><p> </p><p>Why couldn’t he be normal? Why couldn’t he offer Eleanor a love she deserved? </p><p> </p><p>“Suck my cock, you pansy! We all know you’re a sodomite! “ </p><p> </p><p>The thunderous male voice’s vitriolic words weren’t meant for Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley still flinched. </p><p> </p><p>He had long resigned himself to a life of solitude. He was a broken man, and the best way to not wrong the world with his flaws was to not impose them on those around him. It was but the price he had to pay to redeem himself. That was what he deserved, as a man who yearned for the company of other men. </p><p> </p><p>And so, Tinsley kept his gaze down. </p><p> </p><p>But then, a familiar male voice broke through the detective’s brooding dark thoughts as it rose in a lowly growl. A voice sweet as honey and smooth as butter. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, why don’t you fuck off, asshat? “</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i, uh, am sorry? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>IN OTHER NEWSSSSS, TOP 5 BEATDOWN'S BACK IN TOWN BABY!!!!! can't wait to get carguments 2.0 i swear i'm not obsessed with it<br/>subscribe to watcher if ya haven't already https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCircJf-FlToBNjuy9xG-i5A </p><p>oh, and kudos/comments if you want lmao shout out to the three people who commented, i see you, i respect you, and i appreciate you</p><p>ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍˢ ʷᶦˡˡ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵘʳˢ</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. We Deserve Love Too</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW!!!! homophobia, f slur, among other homophobic slurs</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Suck my cock, you pansy! We all know you’re a sodomite! “ </p><p> </p><p>Ricky rolled his eyes and downed his entire drink in a single gulp. He had just skipped bars from another party, and this was probably his seventh or eighth glass. Probably a couple too many.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky didn’t care. He <em>came</em> here to drink. And while he didn’t expect much civility from a random local bar like this one, the two guys beside him were starting to become massive eyesores. </p><p> </p><p>It’s not the shouting that did it. Nor was it the fighting. Rowdy guys can get violent in bars. He knew that much. They could punch each other to death for all Ricky cared. </p><p> </p><p>But blatant disrespect was where Ricky Goldsworth drew the line. He had long known his own limitless attractions, and he was all too familiar with the horror people say about men like him. He did come to terms with his orientation, but not without people talking about it for an annoying bit. Whatever, his identity was more important than the opinions of idiots. And, as it turned out, as a charming, attractive high-class man, he could get away with courting whichever handsome gentleman or beautiful lady caught his eye. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“That's just Ricky being Ricky. I'm sure he'll settle down eventually with a fine lady. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>And Ricky was sure they could just fuck off. To be fair, he hadn't had a serious relationship with anyone in so long; there was no way he was going to change that anytime soon. Sure, he’d pick up a few cute distractions, but he wasn't going to apologize for having dinner with anyone. Why would he conceal a part of himself for the comfort of people he disliked? Why should anyone even think of him as unnatural? Ricky despised the very idea of it. Ricky liked whoever the fuck he pleased, and anyone who disagreed with who he was could fuck off. He made sure the people who crossed his path knew it. He’d question the countless ladies who followed him. He’d confront the men who criticized him. He’d tell off his rare detractors who sometimes decided it’d be a great idea to piss off the goddamn MAYOR’s son (surprise: it wasn’t, in fact, a great idea). </p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t care if he made a fool out of himself. Because if Fran could burn down government documents for Sapphos' daughters, he could do so much for himself. </p><p> </p><p>And so Ricky Goldsworth firmly slammed his now empty glass against the solid granite counter. With some renewed boldness and way too much devil’s juice coursing through his veins, he grabbed guy number 1’s shoulder and vigorously yanked the startled man towards him. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, why don’t you fuck off, asshat? “</p><p> </p><p>Guy number 1 gave him a wide-eyed blink, momentarily stunned, then confused, then enraged. He violently shoved off Ricky, who stumbled back as he tried to grab onto the counter for balance. Ricky could feel the room whirling around him. </p><p> </p><p>Not good. </p><p> </p><p>"And who the fuck are you? Mind your own business! " Guy number 1 barked. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I am minding my business alright, " Ricky chuckled slowly and dangerously. “You, on the other hand, are a hypocrite. Try leaving that guy alone, will you? "</p><p> </p><p>Guy number 1 scoffed. “He’s a fairy, he doesn’t deserve it. Unnatural, revolting, a disgrace to our society! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky frowned in perceptible contempt. He could feel a wave of nausea wash over his body as the floor beneath him surfed around. As a rule of thumb, if the entire bar spins like a tumble dryer tossing you around like a ragged doll, it’s a bad idea to pick a fight with an equally drunken man. </p><p> </p><p>Who would even try to do that? It’d be a terrible idea. </p><p> </p><p>Except it wasn’t. Not in Ricky’s book. </p><p> </p><p>“Unnatural and revolting, you say? “ he swam through the space that separated him from Guy number 1, and stared at the latter directly in the eye. “What did they ever do to you, huh? People will fancy whoever the fuck they want, and that doesn’t make them unnatural failures. “</p><p> </p><p>“What’s it even to you, huh?? “</p><p> </p><p>“What’s it to me? “ Ricky scoffed. “Why, you’re staring at the man himself! We deserve love too, and if you disagree with that, you can take your petty little insecurities elsewhere, you fuckface. “</p><p> </p><p>“WHO ARE YOU CALLING FUCKFACE- “</p><p> </p><p>Guy number 1 lifted his fist when another man emerged from his side and gripped his arm. Visibly furious, he violently struggled against the firm grip. Ricky hardly flinched. </p><p> </p><p>“LET ME GO! LET ME GO!! “</p><p> </p><p>“Stop it, Donald. Can’t you see who he is? “ The man next to Donald whispered gravely. </p><p> </p><p>“DON’T CARE, I NEED TO TEACH THIS FAGGOT A LESSON- “</p><p> </p><p>“That’s Ricky Goldsworth, you imbecile! “ Donald’s friend interrupted, his hand still firmly gripping Donald’s arm. “The mayor’s son! He can sue you into homelessness! “</p><p> </p><p>Donald’s deathly glare quickly shifted into wide-eyed shock. He gritted his teeth, then loosened his fist before dropping his arm in reluctant defeat. He yelled out in sheer frustration. “You’re going to regret this, Goldsworth! You’re just as disgusting as that guy, and just because you’re rich doesn’t make you any less of a faggot! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky snorted. “Bark all you want, Donnyboy, If liking pretty men is disgusting to you, I wouldn’t want to be anything other than disgusting. Get out of my face, you loser! “</p><p> </p><p>He watched as the friend dragged Donald out of his sight. He could vaguely hear the irate man still muttering miscellaneous threats, but he was too drunk to care at this point. Ricky returned to his seat at the bar counter. He should probably go home, he thought. But it was hard to go home when everything was spinning like a goddamn carousel on drugs, and his whole body was flooded by ebbing tides of sickness. </p><p> </p><p><em>Let’s wait this bad boy out then</em>, Ricky thought. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his arms. He sighed. This was the last time he’d go out without Fran. Double trouble was better than solo shit show. Sure, he could always talk to one of those girls who kept following him around like he was a saint. But he’d have to put up an annoyingly angelic front, and Ricky really wasn’t in the mood for pretending right now. It wasn’t even as though those girls actually cared about his well-being. Fran, on the other hand, knew him since childhood and shared so many points in common with him. She was just an all-around cool woman to hang around with, one with no flaws… with the exception of being unavailable tonight. Something about being on an important mission, she said. </p><p> </p><p>Yeah, definitely the last time he’d go out without Fran. </p><p> </p><p>There was a light tap on Ricky’s shoulder. He opened his eyes groggily, only to find a vaguely swirling figure staring at him with an unreadable expression and a glass in his hand. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, hi Mr. Goldsworth. You seem pretty drunk… I thought you might want to sober up a bit… This one’s on the house. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Probably the bartender. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Said bartender averted his gaze as he offered Ricky the clear glass of water. </p><p> </p><p>As a general rule of thumb, it’s not a good idea to accept unidentified drinks from strangers. Especially not in the middle of the night in a corner-of-the-street probably-unlicensed bar, where shady men would buy a pretty woman a drink, only to become the last person seen with her on a newspaper clipping, two weeks later. Terrible idea, really. </p><p> </p><p>Except it wasn’t for Ricky. Ricky reached for the glass of oasis-in-a-desert without hesitation, and felt a grip on his arm. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s first reaction was confusion. <em>What the hell, why can’t I just grab it? </em></p><p> </p><p>Then there was frustration. <em>Who the fuck?</em></p><p> </p><p>And then Ricky turned around, and sickness washed over him again before he could see the man’s face. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s third reaction was… Well. <em>Crap, get your shit together. </em></p><p> </p><p>But then he heard a soft and gentle male voice. </p><p> </p><p>“Actually, sir, I think Mr. Goldsworth will pass. I’ll get him home, so he can sober up in safety. “</p><p> </p><p>Why was this voice so familiar? </p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure? “ The bartender insisted. “He seems in pretty bad shape, he should get some water firs- “  </p><p> </p><p>“He’ll pass. I’m sure you would understand that if anything happens to him, the court is coming for you. Come on, Goldsworth, let’s go. “</p><p> </p><p>The man delicately swung Ricky’s arm over his shoulder, and Ricky felt the man lower down to accommodate his height as they slowly walked out of the bar (well, floated might be more accurate for Ricky). Ricky glanced at the man who was now his arm rest and crutch combined, and suddenly everything clicked. </p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley, “ he laughed weakly. “Are you here to kidnap me? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley flinched, then sighed. “No, Goldsworth, I’m not like you. I’m just making sure I’m the one who gets to put you behind bars. “</p><p> </p><p>“Bars? But you just got me out of a bar, hahahahahaha… “ </p><p> </p><p>“You’re drunk, “ Tinsley diagnosed. </p><p> </p><p>Of course Ricky knew he was drunk. He felt like the captain of a ship caught in a bad storm, with buoys tumbling across the deck from the turbulence of the seas. He felt like a disoriented sailor who’d just fallen into the depths of the ocean, while a siren calmly sung until he couldn’t remember his own name anymore. </p><p> </p><p>But Ricky tried, and he tried. He tried to be <em>not drunk</em>. He tried to make out his surroundings, to see whatever the fuck was going on. But he could only see himself teleport through unrecognizable streets, then into a garden, then into his office. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Definitely a couple too many.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You know, you could probably be a detective, “ Tinsley suddenly spoke up. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s sudden magical ability to fly through space notwithstanding, <em>that</em> in itself was a ludicrous idea. </p><p> </p><p>“There’s no way I could, “ Ricky laughed bitterly. “I’m better than that. “</p><p> </p><p>There was a silence. </p><p> </p><p>“You pay attention to detail, Goldsworth, “ the gentle voice continued quietly. “You also have a strong sense of the right and wrong, which you seem to readily defend. I don’t know what your reasons for turning to murder are, but I’m just saying that you would make a good detective, serving justice the lawful way. You have the potential. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You have the potential for it, my Golden boy. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The words almost instantly sobered Ricky’s fogged mind. For a split second, he would’ve sworn he was speaking to Lucy. His kind, caring mother whom he’d cherished so dearly. Oh, how strongly she believed in the good, and in Ricky’s bright future. </p><p> </p><p>How ironical that his nemesis spoke in the same fashion as his beloved mother, reminding him of things that were no more. </p><p> </p><p>“… I should go. It’s getting late, and you should rest. “</p><p> </p><p>But as much as it pained Ricky to admit it, this guy did walk him home. C.C. Tinsley would gain nothing from being kind to him, and he didn’t give the detective any reasons to either. His expression softened. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, uhm, thanks. “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nothing… Your maid’s here. I should go. Good night. “</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>“Unnatural, revolting, a disgrace to our society! “</p><p> </p><p>A quarrel broke out at the bar counter, and at this moment, there were several things Tinsley struggled to register. One, mayor boy was in the same bar as him on the one day he decided to decompress. Two, said mansion boy was on the verge of fighting with a violent man, publicly no less. Three, he did this to stand up for… a guy he didn’t even know? </p><p> </p><p>And yet, there stood Ricky Goldsworth, arguing with not a hint of hesitation in his smooth voice. “… We deserve love too, and if you disagree with that, you can take your petty little insecurities elsewhere, you fuckface. “</p><p> </p><p><em>We deserve love too.</em> Tinsley raised an eyebrow. He could feel a knot tightening in his chest. How could anyone, knowing the kind of we alluded here, entertain such an absurd idea so openly and so fearlessly? Why would anyone even dare to put — willingly — a big fat red target on their head like that? </p><p> </p><p>Was this man insane? </p><p> </p><p>“WHO ARE YOU CALLING FUCKFACE- “</p><p> </p><p>Yeah. Definitely. Ricky Goldsworth was definitely insane. It wasn't even about mayor boy's body count. Tinsley watched, terrified, as the other man waved his fist murderously at mayor boy while his friend restrained him, with more or less success. Ricky Goldsworth, on the other hand, seemed hardly fazed by the angry vitriol spewed by his enraged interlocutor. Ricky Goldsworth shrugged his shoulders with a nonchalance that made Tinsley’s jaw drop. It wasn’t even about mayor boy’s good looks; this guy looked like he just brushed off the wind or something. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re going to regret this, Goldsworth! “ The man named Donald yelled. “You’re just as disgusting as that guy, and just because you’re rich doesn’t make you any less of a faggot! “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley winced as dread churned his guts upside down. He really should’ve gotten used to hearing those kinds of things. Yet, even though this wasn’t directed at him, he could feel those sharp words claw at the very core of his bones like rusty nails on a chalkboard. He couldn’t help but blame Ricky Goldsworth for provoking that guy. </p><p> </p><p>Insanity. It was the very definition of insanity. </p><p> </p><p>It was no use either way. He already knew it. Men of his kind didn’t deserve much. <em>Just conceal and move on. </em></p><p> </p><p>But instead of the silence he had expected, the detective heard a very real snort in Ricky Goldsworth’s direction. </p><p> </p><p>“Bark all you want, Donnyboy. If liking pretty men is disgusting to you, I wouldn’t want to be anything other than disgusting. Get out of my face, you loser! “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s eyes widened, his mouth agape. He stared at the bar counter in jarring disbelief. Ricky Goldsworth, his customarily neat hair slightly ruffled and perfectly ironed dress shirt unbuttoned to the collarbone, maintained his confident stance, eyes unwavering, a carefree smirk painted on the canvas that was his beautiful figure. Here stood a man who had just been called a degenerate, yet acted as though he had had cereal of the champions for breakfast. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If liking pretty men is disgusting to you, I wouldn’t want to be anything other than disgusting.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was a sight that profoundly disturbed Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was a thought that profoundly disturbed Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p><em>We</em>, referring to <em>that</em> kind of man. Referring to <em>his kind</em>. <em>His kind</em>, in the same sentence as the big L. Seamlessly woven together. Not gauchely collaged with Elmer’s glue. </p><p> </p><p>It clashed with everything he knew. He had never seen a man this open and proud of, well, <em>you know</em>. To be fair, he had never seen another man of <em>his kind</em>. And the first one he met just so happened to be this dangerous serial killer he was working to put behind bars, permanently. To him, that was definitely a cosmic sign warning him that Love and him resided in separate countries, and Tinsley was no traveller. </p><p> </p><p>Nonetheless, Tinsley couldn’t help but feel intrigued yet terrified all at once by Ricky Goldsworth. The detective wasn’t fooling himself; this was a cold-blooded murderer he had to catch. But this was also a man who probably had a death wish, judging from how he wore his heart on his sleeve. </p><p> </p><p>Somehow, it worked for Ricky Goldsworth. He walked around like he could get away with saying those audacious things, and Tinsley was beginning to believe he did. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If liking pretty men is disgusting to you, I wouldn’t want to be anything other than disgusting.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley almost envied Ricky Goldsworth, and loathed himself for it. Yet, he couldn’t help but recognize that mansion boy did what he could never attempt. </p><p> </p><p>And so he silently watched as mansion boy made his way back to his seat and appeared to fall asleep. Meanwhile, Donald and his friends moved to sit two tables away from the detective. Tinsley decided that he didn’t want to draw any attention from the group towards him, and kept his eyes trained on his beer glass. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to hear their conversation. </p><p> </p><p>He heard it anyways. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck that Goldsworth guy, “ Donald grumbled, still visibly upset from his previous altercation. </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s not get too worked up, Don. You know what those rich kids are capable of, “ the friend who stopped him earlier reminded him, sternly. </p><p> </p><p>“I know, “ Donald let out, clearly frustrated. “But he called me a fuckface! For no good reason! God, I want to punch that fag so hard, tell him his stupid nose doesn’t look good on his face anymore, make it bleed until he regrets everything! “</p><p> </p><p>“We could drug him, “ A third voice chimed in. “I know the bartender, he could slide in some stuff. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh hell yeah, I like that idea, “ Donald exclaimed as he slammed his hands on the table. “You’re a genius, Chad! “</p><p> </p><p>“Right? I’ll have the bartender wake him up and offer him a glass of ‘water’. He won’t taste the difference! “</p><p> </p><p>“And then we can drag him out of here and teach him a lesson! “</p><p> </p><p>The first friend sounded less certain of Donald and Chad’s plan. “Guys, I don’t think this is a good idea- “</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Paul! “ Donald interjected. “You already ruined my fun earlier. Let the big boys take it from here, yeah? He won’t even know who did it. Chad. Bartender. Now. “</p><p> </p><p>“On it, chief! “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley watched in horror as Chad slowly made his way to the bar counter and called the bartender to him. They exchanged a few words before the bartender filled a clear glass with what appeared to be water, and Chad dissolved a small white pill into the glass. Panic surged through the detective. </p><p> </p><p><em>So much for not drawing attention</em>, Tinsley thought grudgingly as he got out of his own seat and walked towards the slumbering sunkissed man. He could see the bartender inching hesitantly towards the unsuspecting criminal with trouble in a cup. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, hi Mr. Goldsworth. You seem pretty drunk… I thought you might want to sober up a bit… This one’s on the house. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth’s deep dark eyes fluttered open, and he lazily reached for the glass before him. <em>Not today, Satan</em>, Tinsley thought as he firmly grabbed his nemesis’ arm and pulled it back. The arm was limp and, while its owner did not fight back, he did turn his head towards the detective with a blank, glazed stare. But more glaringly, Ricky Goldsworth reeked with the smell of fruity booze. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Crap, this guy’s drunker than I thought. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glared back at the bartender, who seemed visibly thrown off. The words that ensued came out of Tinsley’s mouth, firmly, of their own volition. </p><p> </p><p>“Actually, sir, I think Mr. Goldsworth will pass. I’ll get him home, so he can sober up in safety. “</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure? He seems in pretty bad shape, he should get some water firs- “ </p><p> </p><p>“He’ll pass, “ Tinsley interrupted curtly, an uncharacteristic edge in his tone. This was a solemn warning. “I’m sure you would understand that if anything happens to him, the court is coming for you. “</p><p> </p><p>The bartender swallowed and nodded in terror. <em>Good, at least I don’t have to deal with that</em>. Tinsley glanced back at Ricky Goldsworth; the shorter man was struggling to stand correctly. The detective felt a short pang in the chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Goldsworth, let’s go. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley delicately swung the limp arm over his shoulder, before noticing the awkwardness of that position. There was no way he was going to carry this man out; the tall investigator’s nose wrinkled at the very idea of it. Instead, he opted for lowering himself down to Ricky Goldsworth’s height. <em>Curse you, short stack</em>, he thought as he slowly guided the drunken man out of the bar and into the streets. </p><p> </p><p>He really should’ve brought his car today. Walking with bent knees to half-carry a serial killer back to his royal mansion at almost midnight wasn’t exactly how C.C. Tinsley had planned on spending his night, but here he was, acting as a crutch for Ricky “No Fear” Goldsworth on the Chicago streets. God forbid if this man threw up on him. </p><p> </p><p>“Tinsleyyyyyyyyy. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley flinched at the sudden sound of the sensuous, slurred voice. He really shouldn’t be surprised that Goldsworth was smooth and sultry in his drunken state as well. But something about the beautiful man’s soft laughter was tugging at something inside the detective’s chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you here to kidnap me? “</p><p> </p><p>Panic flared in Tinsley’s eyes. What was he even supposed to say? That he, a detective sworn to law and order, decided to personally walk his prime suspect, a ruthless serial killer, home on a whim because a bunch of unsavoury men decided to spike his drink? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No fucking way. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“No, Goldsworth, I’m not like you. I’m just making sure I’m the one who gets to put you behind bars. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced furtively at Ricky Goldsworth. Luckily, the latter seemed too inebriated to notice his nervousness. </p><p> </p><p>“Bars? But you just got me out of a bar, hahahahahaha… “ </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Guess I worried too much after all. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You’re drunk, “ Tinsley remarked as-a-matter-of-factedly. He could feel the shorter man’s warm, fruity breath on his cheek as cheerful laughter rang through his ears. He glanced at Goldsworth. This wasn’t the first time they stood this close, but it was the first time neither of them was threatening to fuck/kill the other. And something about the pale moonlight casting soft shadows onto the dark-eyed man’s defined profile like a Renaissance painting was simply entrancing. Not to mention this undone look of a man who was usually so well-put together, with the two shirt buttons unveiling his creamy smooth skin and the slightly ruffled black hair… Ricky Goldsworth seemed so uninhibited, so vulnerable. </p><p> </p><p>Others in a similar scenario would’ve called it love at first sight. Tinsley called it a nuisance. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but think of the younger man’s bold altercation earlier today. He couldn’t help but recognize the sheer courage and insanity in doing what Goldsworth did. Guts made entirely of steel. </p><p> </p><p>He even wondered if, in a different universe, he would’ve looked up to Ricky Goldsworth. </p><p> </p><p>He despised that thought. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley shook his head. It really was getting late. Luckily, they were arriving at the Goldsworth estate’s entrance. The detective reached for the doorbell, and was greeted by the maid from days before. </p><p> </p><p>“Goldsworth residence, who may this be? “</p><p> </p><p>“C.C. Tinsley, private investigator. I’m here to bring Mr. Ricky Goldsworth back to the residence. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my, “ the maid gasped. “What happened to Mr. Goldsworth? “</p><p> </p><p>“Had too much to drink, I think. I got him out of the bar before it got messy. I think he’ll be fine if he rests up a bit, “ Tinsley replied nonchalantly. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s really going extremes… I’m the only person on duty right now, so could you please look over him while I get his things ready? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Sure. “</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Tinsley. Please come on in. “</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>It was past midnight. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was standing in Ricky Goldsworth’s office, with the drunken man himself nearly passed out on the leather chair. </p><p> </p><p>The maid said it would take about half an hour, so it shouldn’t be too long before she came back. The detective thus took the opportunity to glance around the room. This was perhaps the fourth time he’d been here, much to his disappointment. But he figured this was a necessary evil in order to crack the case. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yeah, that’s right, this is strictly for work purposes. Nothing else. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The bookshelves were as neatly arranged as ever, the rainbow of colours easy on the eyes. There was not a speck of dust on the scarce furniture of the room, and the marble horse looked as polished as ever. Ricky Goldsworth’s desk was clear of clutter, with the exception of the pen case, the lamp, and… the hand drawing of green carnations in full bloom, shaded down to the last petal. </p><p> </p><p>Strange how a man so meticulous would pick such a careless fight for a stranger’s sake. For Ricky Goldsworth, of all people, to defend someone else was… </p><p> </p><p>“You know, “ Tinsley mused, not knowing if Goldsworth would hear him. “You could probably be a detective. “</p><p> </p><p>There was a silence. Then he heard a halfhearted laughter, with something missing in the beat of it.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s noooooo way I could, “ Ricky slurred. “I’mmm better than thaaaaaaat. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If liking pretty men is disgusting to you, I wouldn’t want to be anything other than disgusting.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Maybe in a different universe, C.C. Tinsley would’ve looked up to Ricky Goldsworth. Unfortunately, in this universe, Ricky Goldsworth was a murderer. It really was strange, and Tinsley struggled to reconcile this man’s bravery with his obvious malice. </p><p> </p><p>Yet, his voice continued, firmly, of its own volition. </p><p> </p><p>“You pay attention to detail, Goldsworth. You also have a strong sense of the right and wrong, which you seem to readily defend. I don’t know what your reasons for turning to murder are, but I’m just saying that you would make a good detective, serving justice the lawful way. You have the potential. “</p><p> </p><p>No response. Tinsley glanced at the shorter man; there was a blank stare again. It was so strange to see those dark eyes exude anything other than danger and mischief. Tinsley couldn’t tell if his interlocutor was deep in thought, or completely wasted. </p><p> </p><p>Probably the latter. </p><p> </p><p>“… I should go. It’s getting late, and you should rest. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley turned towards the door to see if the maid was here. He stopped dead in his tracks as he heard Ricky Goldsworth’s voice. It was faint, but unmistakable. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, uhm… thanks. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. </p><p> </p><p>It was so strange to hear that smooth voice speak hesitantly and utter anything other than schemes or threats. <em>But it’s refreshing.</em></p><p> </p><p>“It’s nothing, “ Tinsley muttered. He noticed a female figure at the door, and nodded in her direction. “Your maid’s here. I should go. Good night. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i tried to resist naming one of the jerk characters chad.<br/>i have failed at resisting. </p><p>enjoy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Let's Have a Little Chit-Chat, Detective</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, I’ve heard that someone’s had a good night, “ Francesca jokingly teased. “How’s the hangover treating you, Golden boy? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, cut it out, “ Ricky grumbled, his brows furrowed in a grumpy frown as he took in one big gulp of black coffee. He could feel a thousand hammers banging the inside of his head, desperately trying to escape the cage of suffering that now was Ricky’s grossly mistreated body. He shot a quick glance at the dark-haired woman he called accomplice; she was grinning playfully like she had the best few days of her life. </p><p> </p><p>“Pleasedon’tletmegopartyaloneagain, “ he blurted out, his voice quicker and fainter this time. </p><p> </p><p>Francesca burst out in laughter. “Guess you really had a bad time yesterday, huh? What is it, Samantha wouldn’t get off your back? I thought I told her you weren’t interested- “</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky’s weary eyes and eerie silence brought the FBI agent's sentence to a screeching halt. From the looks of it, it wasn’t something as mundane as an overly invested admirer. She sighed, and spoke again, her tone more serious this time. “Let me guess. Sharp Eye got involved? You know, I could make quick work of him- “</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t, “ Ricky croaked out. Francesca’s crystal-like eyes narrowed in confusion as she stared at her childhood friend. In the midst of his frown lied an oddly soft look that deeply unsettled her. She had been so used to Ricky laughing lightheartedly about slicing criminals open, or complaining loudly of people he disliked. But Francesca Norris wasn’t used to this. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s going on, Ricky? I know you’re cranky from all that booze, but you’ve been acting weird! It’s almost as if you owe C.C. Tinsley a favour… Just what in the world happened while I was gone? “</p><p> </p><p>“I… Well, “ Ricky sighed. “I don’t know either, honestly. "</p><p> </p><p>Fran gave him a look. It was <em>that</em> look, the one where she clearly saw through his lies, yet annoyingly insisted that he came clean on his own.</p><p> </p><p>Figured she wouldn't buy it. </p><p> </p><p>"I have fuzzy memories of last night, " he offered tentatively. "I think I told some guy off for… I forgot. “</p><p> </p><p>Francesca snorted. Well that certainly was typical of Ricky. </p><p> </p><p>“But then I think Tinsley walked me home? Crazy, I know. I think I might be losing it, Fran. There’s no way it was him, and yet my brain keeps telling me he carried me back home while I was drunk to high heavens, then he said some bullshit Lucy would’ve said. I know he's fond of his cat, but he’s a detective, and I’m not his cat- Jesus Christ, none of this makes sense. There’s no way he would’ve walked me home and told me I could have a future like a sappy date night in a romcom flick, and yet I’m convinced he did. Even the maid from yesterday, Rose, told me I was brought back by someone named C.C. Tinsley. Fuck, Fran, I’d really rather believe Rose and I have gone collectively bonkers last night. “</p><p> </p><p>Heavy silence hung in the air. Francesca raised an eyebrow at her rambling friend. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words remained stuck in her throat, unable to escape. She sighed. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re rattled by Sharp Eye’s behaviour. “</p><p> </p><p>“No shit, Fran! “ Ricky exclaimed. “He has no right nor reason to do such a thing, it’s almost as if, as if he… “</p><p> </p><p><em>As if he was a decent fucking human being</em>. But the words remained stuck in his throat, unable to escape. Fran, on the other hand, seemed to understand her friend’s internal conflict though. She walked to Ricky, and patted him lightly on the shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, whatever kind of a person he is, you at least know he won’t be able to catch you anytime soon. It’s okay if you don’t figure him out right away, Ricky, “ she reassured him, softly. </p><p> </p><p>“B-but what am I supposed to do with him then? The deal’s a ticking time bomb, and he might screw me over anytime now. And — God I was so stupid for betting on him, why did I think he'd understand me once he uncovers everything? The odds are so ever slim, Fran! Not a single case unsolved, what was I thinking?! “ </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that was stupid of you. “</p><p> </p><p>“Fran! “ Ricky whined. </p><p> </p><p>The dark-haired woman couldn’t suppress her amused laughter. Who wouldn’t chuckle at the thought of Ricky pouting like a child? He hadn’t changed at all, she mused. </p><p> </p><p>“I mean, you could always do some detective work yourself, you know. Get to know your boy Ceece, see what kind of soup he’s cooking. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky flinched. C.C. Tinsley’s soft-spoken, gentle voice rang again inside his pounding head. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“… you would make a good detective, serving justice the lawful way. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Potential.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s face fell. He stared at the hand drawing on his desk, a floral sketch he'd made a few days past. So many things were hard to believe at this moment. How could he, a veteran serial killer, make a good detective? Misery usually befell those who sided with law and order; Ricky knew that all too well. </p><p> </p><p>He wondered if Lucy would’ve agreed, had she known. </p><p> </p><p>But he figured it wouldn’t do harm to get acquainted with the private eye for now. They could always just murk him. </p><p> </p><p>“… I guess, “ Ricky finally manages. “But promise me you’ll help me get rid of him if I need it. “</p><p> </p><p>Francesca chuckled. “Of course, you can count on me. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky sighed, a slight yet comforting feeling of relief washing over him. “You’re the best, Fran. How was your mission, by the way? I’m done talking about the tall idiot. “</p><p> </p><p>“Hahahahaha, it went pretty well. Speaking of which, “ the older woman continued with a more serious tone. “I think I’ve got something that may be of use to you, Golden boy. “ </p><p> </p><p>Francesca took out a single, wheat-coloured envelope. She held it out to a confused Ricky, who hesitantly took it. Carefully, he opened the envelope, throwing a quizzical glance at his friend. However, all of his silent questions seemed to be answered as his dark, tired eyes widened in shock and disbelief combined at the glossy surface of the black-and-white photograph. He could feel his skin crawl uncomfortably and his fist clench around the crumpled envelope, as unbridled rage built up within, threatening to explode with every passing minute. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Monday, August 14th, 1950. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You read that right. I think we found a lead on your mother, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>It was a strange sight. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley slowly turned the silverpiece inside the wooden lock, and pushed the large door open. Holly was out of town for the week, and had given him the key to her office in the meantime. As promised, carefully labeled manila files sat in orderly fashion on the desk, next to a couple of empty photo frames. Aside from one locked drawer, the detective had been given access to everything in the room for research purposes. </p><p> </p><p>It was strange to see the empty office without its rightful owner. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had no intention to move in here; he did prefer the quiet company of Buddy after all. Plus, Holly would be back in a week’s time. But he figured he might be spending extended hours in the DA’s office. He picked up the stack of files on Holly’s desk; the manila folders felt smooth to the touch. Livingston, crimson; Stewart, cobalt; Durham, olive; Walter, mauve; Hawthorne, apricot; Zollinger, lemon; Buchanan, coal; O’Connor, teal; McFishe, white. In addition to those individual White Wolf case files lied an additional stack of miscellaneous active cases assigned to various officers, court papers, and what appeared to be employment records for the police department. </p><p> </p><p>The detective dropped all but one file onto the wide mahogany desk. He carefully opened the snow-coloured folder. McFishe’s file was still relatively devoid of information, besides the pathologists’ reports, family information, his bank account statements, and the address of the crime. Tinsley figured the police hadn’t caught on McFishe’s possible connections to the mafia yet. Nevertheless, something was still off with number 9. Even though McFishe may have been involved in a mafia cover-up, that still wasn’t up to par with the rest of Goldsworth’s track record. After all, all the other White Wolf victims were murderers. </p><p> </p><p>No matter how he looked at it, McFishe’s murder seemed like a personal vendetta. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley grabbed his keys and headed out. He wanted to confirm something. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>“Andrew! So nice to see ya again kiddo! Didja finally find a renter for me?? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled nervously. He wasn’t sure if it was Xavier’s nasal voice or the landlord’s, uh, openly blunt manners, but he never really got used to it. </p><p> </p><p>“Not really, “ he responded gingerly as he scratched his neck. “I’m here because I needed some additional information about your tenants. “</p><p> </p><p>“Bummer. Fine alright. Ask away, kiddo, yer working on the fish guy right? “</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, today I wanted to ask you about his neighbour, Mayor. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, the shady fella! He’s also dead as hell, “ Xavier snorted. Tinsley raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat and ignored the comment. </p><p> </p><p>“Aside from his occupation, do you know anything about Mayor’s social circles, for example, if he had any close friends? “</p><p> </p><p>“Right right right, I forgot to tell ya, “ Xavier exclaimed as slapped his forehead in a sonorous smack. “Mayer was VERY well connected, let me tell ya kiddo. Doctors, lawyers, rich people, hell, he’s even buddies with the mayor’s son! Can ya believe? This fella was a helluva ladder climber! “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s whole body went stiff. </p><p> </p><p>“Can ya imagine? He’s called ‘Mayor’, and he’s buddies with the MAYOR’s son! HAHAH! What a joke! “ the landlord guffawed. </p><p> </p><p>“Who? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s voice was ever so quiet, as though it was trying to muffle the loud short-circuit happening in his brain. Xavier’s boisterous laughter dimmed down as he raised an eyebrow at the detective’s strange question. “Whaddaya mean who? I said Mayor’s friends with the mayor’s son! Ricky Goldsworth, I think was his name? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could feel the cogwheels of his brain fit into each other like a perfectly tailored shoe, a puzzle coming to completion, or intricate clockwork. Suddenly the fog that veiled John McFishe’s case lifted, and the detective could see the clear connection. </p><p> </p><p>“Were they good friends? “ Tinsley asked, his voice barely above a whisper to conceal its shakiness. </p><p> </p><p>“I think yea! Especially last year, they often chatted round here. Oh boy, I wish I was his buddy too, can ya imagine being good buddies with the mayor’s son, or even better, the mayor! “</p><p> </p><p>There was a weighted silence. Tinsley wasn’t exactly sure what the wave that washed over him was. Perhaps it was a sense of serenity, or maybe it was relief, peppered with impending dread. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth killed McFishe to avenge his late friend, Mayor. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley did not know what to do with that information. He had expected to keep on working on the case, or even just think of McFishe's grisly end. But all he could think of was Ricky Goldsworth’s drunken laughter, Ricky Goldsworth’s moonlit complexion, Ricky Goldsworth’s terrifying audacity in the face of detractors. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley did not know how to feel about all of this. He didn’t want to know either. Emotions, as far as he was concerned, were generally a nuisance to his objective observations. But the mere thought of the White Wolf killer being anywhere close to humanity was frightening, and Tinsley was pretty sure something hijacked his brain like an unsuspecting plane. And yet, murders notwithstanding, all the evidence in the detective’s head converged to suggest that Ricky Goldsworth might actually be a decent person. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley immediately shoved that whole can of worms deep into the back of his mind. Focus. He was here to solve crimes. </p><p> </p><p>There were still questions left unanswered. Why would Ricky Goldsworth, a serial killer, befriend someone who worked against him? After all, exposing a drug cartel wasn’t exactly noir behaviour, unless Goldsworth ran a drug ring and wanted his rivals down. </p><p> </p><p>“Well... I think I have the information I need. Thank you very much for your time again, Xavier. I’ll be heading out now. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley got up from his chair and walked towards the office door. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh- okay, see ya Alfred! Don’t forget about the renters! “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Note to self: Ask Holly about Mayor when she gets back. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Mayor was indeed employed until his untimely death on February 14th, 1951. But aside from the glaring employment termination date that stared back at Tinsley with enigma written all over it, the detective couldn't really find anything else about this man in Holly's files. He figured Mayor's cases were already archived. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley dropped the employment records onto the desk and leaned back into his chair, stretching his long limbs as he yawned. </p><p> </p><p>Then he heard a few solid knocks on the door. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley froze. Aside from Banjo and Darla, no one else in the building really knew he was taking over the DA's office. How was he supposed to respond? Pretend no one's here? Explain how the DA hired a private eye and let him roam her office like a local hotdog stand? Panic rose as he shot up from his chair and peeked through the peephole, hoping it would be someone he knew. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, it was someone he knew alright. </p><p> </p><p>It was Ricky Goldsworth. </p><p> </p><p>Alone. </p><p> </p><p>The door creaked open. </p><p> </p><p>"It's not wise for a werewolf to mingle with the townsfolk, Mr. Goldsworth, " Tinsley began, raising an eyebrow at the shorter man who stood before him. "What brings the likes of you to the lion's den? "</p><p> </p><p>"I think you flatter the CPD a little too much for its track record, " Ricky responded in a mocking tone, smirking. And just like that, he strutted into Holly's office, uninvited, as if he owned the place. He strolled around the room the same way others would in a town fair. "I appreciate theming, detective, but this is no lion's den. You can't report me. Look at all those coloured files, is this spectacular or what? " </p><p> </p><p>Millions of things were happening at once in C.C. Tinsley's brain. The logical thing to do would've been to evict the soon-to-be convict. The impulsive thing would've been to confront the serial killer about killing McFishe as a misdirected revenge before researching Mayor's background. The idiotic thing would've been to stare blankly at Ricky Goldsworth's indigo scarf, fashionably tied between his slender neck and defined collarbone. </p><p> </p><p>Before Tinsley could make a choice on his own terms, his brain short-circuited to the third option, or rather, the path of least resistance. It took him five gruelling seconds before he recomposed himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Say, Tinsley, what’s your actual name? I’ve always heard you being referred to as C.C. Tinsley, never as Case Cracker Tinsley or Casserole Connoisseur Tinsley- “</p><p> </p><p>"Why are you here? " Tinsley finally blurted out with little grace. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, rude, “ Ricky chuckled. “No particular reason. Just wanted to drop by and get to know you better. You did walk me home while I was drunk, it’s the least I can do. “</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t you say you were a busy man? </p><p> </p><p>“Cleared my schedule. “</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you afraid of the officers next door? “</p><p> </p><p>“Haven’t caught me in seven months. “</p><p> </p><p>“Is this another scheme of yours, Goldsworth? “</p><p> </p><p>“You know, Tinman, “ Ricky shook his head and leaned back against the desk suggestively. “If I wanted to blackmail you, I could just convince the whole department you’re my boy toy. How’s it gonna look for you to fuck your prime suspect, mm? “</p><p> </p><p>“They’ll know it’s blatant slander, “ Tinsley replied. He sounded like he wanted to convince himself more than the criminal libertine before him. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky raised his eyebrows and gave the detective a look. “How would they know? It’s your word against mine. Who do you think they’d believe more? Ricky Goldsworth, son of the mayor and sweetheart of the city, or an out-of-town outsider whose marital status isn’t even known? “ </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll have you know I was married, “ Tinsley corrected sharply. Ricky brought his hand to his lips, covering a barely stifled laughter. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, they don’t know that. So it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter to the police, doesn’t matter to the townsfolk. You don’t seem to understand what’s at play here, Tinsley. I could twist the narrative as much as I want here. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could feel cold sweat pearling at his forehead. He turned his clammy hands inside his pockets. Ricky noticed the detective’s sullen silence, and smirked in satisfaction. </p><p> </p><p>“But I won’t do that. Unless you give me a reason to call off our deal, “ he continued, shrugging his shoulders. “In which case all bets are off. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky could feel the detective’s grudging glare on him. </p><p> </p><p>“But hey, enough about hypotheticals. I’m curious about you, detective. We’re going to work together for a while, might as well get to know each other, mm? “</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not working together, Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>“Aw come on sweetheart, you can just call me Ricky, “ the shorter man cooed. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was getting tired of this rollercoaster of a man. He had work to do — work created by this guy, no less — and this conversation was turning out to be a real nuisance. The detective slumped his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>“If I answer your questions, will you leave? “</p><p> </p><p>“If I find our little chat satisfying, then I will allow you to attend to your business for sure, “ Ricky winked at the detective. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley rolled his eyes and breathed out a long sigh. He grabbed the office chair and plopped down defeatedly. “Sure, let’s chat, Ricky, “ he said, crossing his arms over his chest. </p><p> </p><p>The corners of Ricky's lips ticked up. “I’ll start then. Where did you grow up? “</p><p> </p><p>“Schaumburg, “ Tinsley muttered, his tone utterly devoid of enthusiasm. </p><p> </p><p>“Schaumburg! I’ve never been there. Do you have any family there? “</p><p> </p><p>“An older brother. “</p><p> </p><p>“Must be fun to have a brother, I personally don’t have any, “ Ricky mused. </p><p> </p><p>“I figured, “ Tinsley responded flatly.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you do anything outside of work? “</p><p> </p><p>“Not really. I have a cat. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky eyed Tinsley. The taller man’s coffee-coloured eyes were expressionless; the untamed fluff that was his hair appeared more energetic than his whole person at this moment. Ricky shook his head in frustration. </p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you going to ask me questions as well, detective? “</p><p> </p><p>“Why would I? “</p><p> </p><p>“Why wouldn’t you? “ Ricky purred, leaning closer to Tinsley over the desk and gazing at the detective seductively. “I think you’re sleeping on the fact that I’m quite a catch. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley snorted. He would be lying if he didn’t feel compelled by the French painting splayed over his Holly’s desk right now. But the weary private eye kept his cool this time, his body too tired to engage in his suspect’s lascivious antics. </p><p> </p><p>Although, Ricky Goldsworth’s flirty demeanour <em>did</em> remind Tinsley of that night. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If liking pretty men is disgusting to you, I wouldn’t want to be anything other than disgusting.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Did you always have this audacity with men? “ Tinsley asked, quietly. </p><p> </p><p>“Not always. But life is so much flavourful when I do, “ Ricky joked. “I didn’t pick green carnations for my cologne for nothing, “ he winked at a confused detective. </p><p> </p><p>“Green carnations? “</p><p> </p><p>“Well, they’re not exactly green, but. I got inspired by Oscar Wilde. His inner circle would wear mystic green carnations on their lapel as a secret sign that they belonged to the Victorian Homoerotic Club. They watered the carnations with arsenic, and then they’d turn green. But arsenic makes a horrible scent for my liking, so I asked the perfumer to add a hint of lime instead. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley observed his unwanted guest as the latter eagerly rambled on about his <em>pâté de foie gras</em> flower juice like it was the best thing he’s ever created. For a man who would be shunned for his deviant attractions, Ricky Goldsworth was one hell of an outspoken one, and his pride intrigued and terrified the detective all at once. </p><p> </p><p>“… You rich people and your customized fancy water. “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not fancy water, you town dunce, I put a lot of effort into it! “</p><p> </p><p>“You do have a flair for the dramatic. “</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I do, “ Ricky smiled with half-lidded eyes, before turning his gaze to the footsteps in the hallway. A short, auburn-haired woman stopped at the doorframe, raised an eyebrow, and then smiled. </p><p> </p><p>“Good night, detective, don’t forget to lock the door before you go, yeah? “</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you Darla, I will do. Have a good night, “ Tinsley waved back politely at the receptionist. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky hopped off the desk, taking the time to flatten his white dress shirt and khaki pants. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. I should go now. Thank you for the little chat, Tinsley. I’ll see you soon. “</p><p> </p><p>He winked at the detective, and left. Tinsley did not stop him. He did not word out a witty reply such as, “you’re not seeing me anytime soon”. </p><p> </p><p>But he did mull over the strange encounter that night. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pâté de fois gras means fattened duck liver paste, which is a delicacy in france; i've seen someone describe oscar wilde's green carnations as such, meaning something like "pretentious" or "fancy" lol which is exactly the vibe i'm going for w/ricky<br/>also they did dip carnations in arsenic to make them green, oh the things we gay people do</p><p>on an unrelated thought, shane madej would 900% call mcfishe the fish fiend, and no you cannot change my mind</p><p>idk if you're gonna hate me or love me on thursday but i'm v proud of that chapter so stay tuned!! oh and kudos/comments are appreciated too iguess :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. April Fools</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They did meet again, soon enough. </p><p> </p><p>It started off as a one-off thing, where Ricky would show up at the police department in the evening. They would have another one of those “chit-chats”, then Ricky would leave promptly after the receptionist’s shift ended. </p><p> </p><p>Surely it would end there, Tinsley thought. </p><p> </p><p>But one seemingly innocuous meeting turned into two, then into five, until Tinsley became used to seeing his prime suspect during most of his working time. While the detective did not intend to move into Holly’s office, he did end up spending a good two-thirds of his time in that brightly lit room, sifting through the various multicoloured files, while the mastermind behind them casually idled around and conversed with him. </p><p> </p><p>At first, Tinsley questioned whether or not his newfound companion even had anything to do with his life to be loitering around the precinct this often. Ricky said he was unemployed, and had to lay low so as to not get caught. Tinsley found no reason to doubt his rationale. </p><p> </p><p>It's not like he wanted Ricky Goldsworth to be strolling around his workplace as he pleased. C.C. Tinsley far preferred peace and quiet for that. But whatever Ricky Goldsworth wanted, he’d get it; such seemed to be the younger man’s M.O. When Tinsley figured Ricky would not leave him alone, he went along with it reluctantly. He could always just keep an eye on the little guy, or so he told himself. </p><p> </p><p>But Ricky Goldsworth definitely had his charms, no doubt about that. And it wasn’t his picturesque good looks; that was the elephant in the room that everyone had already acknowledged and pushed to the back burner at this point. Killer smiles and perfect masculine wiles aside, Ricky turned out to be quite the conversationalist: despite Tinsley’s best efforts, he always found himself answering his alluring guest, or asking questions, intrigued by the boldly expressive and dramatically fearless man. Mixed with the detective’s usual reserved yet astute demeanour, it was a strange dynamic that worked… surprisingly well? Not even Tinsley had expected that. </p><p> </p><p>And so, without him even noticing it, C.C. Tinsley’s begrudging tolerance towards Ricky slowly faded, replaced by something the detective would best describe as “this is how it is now” in a dismissively nonchalant shrug. Ricky Goldsworth's pretty silhouette peeking through the doorframe at the rise of afternoon and leaving at seven was now strangely a part of C.C. Tinsley's routine. </p><p> </p><p>But it’s not as though Tinsley hadn’t learned anything about Ricky Goldsworth either. <em>He’s an only son. Has the audacity of a twelve-year old. No pets but prefers dogs. Likes coffee way too much for an unemployed man. Loves to party, but also enjoys the company of nature. If only he’d stop being so damn forward. Draws and reads nineteenth century literature in his spare time. Shamelessly swings both ways, insufferably celibate. Unhealthy obsession with the game Werewolf. Unhealthy obsession for phony symbolism in general. Won’t openly admit his murders; probably doesn’t want me to tape him. Lollipop enthusiast. Won’t elaborate but has an obviously very dead mother. Will send me death threats if I make fun of his very dead mother. </em></p><p> </p><p>And then there were the subtler gestures that whispered behind words. Ricky Goldsworth's sultry voice that could lull a man into the sweet embrace of death, ringing through the room as it punctuated the detective's work in interspersed fashion; Ricky Goldsworth's unwavering conviction burning fiercely in his deep dark eyes when it came to things he believed in, and things Tinsley would absolutely be terrified of mentioning; Ricky Goldsworth’s illegally angelic smile, knowing the horrible acts the man had committed… </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, all of those things now resided freely inside the detective’s overcrowded mind. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn’t bother collecting rent. Told himself he was simply tired of fighting the stubborn guy. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t bother explaining it to himself either on Saturday, when he asked Ricky to join him for a short break from work. The other part of his brain also did not bother looking further into it. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky had initially seemed surprised when the detective had asked him. While he did cautiously agree to walk with Tinsley, the latter couldn’t help but notice the shorter man’s furtive glances around the department’s entrance and reception area, as if he was on the lookout for something. Tinsley figured there wasn’t anything to worry about though, since not even Darla was around when they left. Out for lunch break as well, probably. </p><p> </p><p>A few rays of sunlight broke through a few scattered silvery clouds, lighting the spring buds that formed at the tips of Buckthorn fingers at the eve of April. </p><p> </p><p>“Perfect weather to walk in. Taking me on a date, honey? “ Ricky teased and winked at the flushing detective. </p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t a date. “</p><p> </p><p>“Pfft, doesn’t know theming, “ Ricky shrugged. “Honestly though, I’d much rather prefer walking here when the leaves come out. It’s prettier in colour. “</p><p> </p><p>“Brown and grey <em>are</em> colours, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh shut up. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled. Upon seeing the shorter man roll his eyes, the detective decided that angry Ricky was, in fact, more tolerable than seductive Ricky. Unfortunately, seductive Ricky pervaded the whole of this “lunch break walk” premise, as they landed in front of a thawing lake and saw the reflection of the troubled skies. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yikes. This is too romantic. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fortunately, Ricky didn’t flirt, this time. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in the city, Tinsley? I mean, look at this, isn’t this pretty or what? What are they even putting in the water in Schaumburg? “</p><p> </p><p>“The water’s perfectly adequate in Schaumburg, thank you very much. “</p><p> </p><p>“‘Perfectly adequate’? “ Ricky snorted. “You gotta aim higher, detective! If you settle for ‘perfectly adequate’, you’re going to end up old and cranky in no time! “</p><p> </p><p>“That’s rich, coming from Trust Fund Baby Number One here. Ever considered getting a job? You’d actually make a pretty good detective. “ </p><p> </p><p>Ricky froze. For one second, he made a face. A fleeting flash of an unreadable expression. But before he could even reply, the actual detective spoke up again. </p><p> </p><p>“Shame you went around and mucked it up. You see, this is what happens when you have too many dead presidents lying around your hou- “</p><p> </p><p>“I still don’t think I mucked it up. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley turned his head. There it was again, that fiery conviction in those eerily dark pupils. Ricky’s voice had been quiet and low, but his eyes were loud and clear, devoid of pretense. <em>Look into it and see for yourself. </em></p><p> </p><p>The detective thought of McFishe. <em>Was that not a muck-up?</em> But the words remained stuck in his throat, unable to escape. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>There was a long, awkward silence. Both men gazed into the perfectly still mirror surrounded by the barely garnished soil. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky was the first to speak up. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you have anything holding you back in your hometown? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley raised an eyebrow. “Why this question all of a sudden? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky shrugged. “I don’t know, you don’t want to give me your full name, so here we are. “</p><p> </p><p>“You do realize no one knows my name right? I intended it that way, and that’s not going to change. “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure your brother knows. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sighed. “Ok, aside from my brother. Point is, it’s C.C. Tinsley to you, mister. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky snorted. “Anyways, Tins. You seem like you’re very attached to Schaumburg. Why? Can’t wait to go back to your loving wife? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s eyes widened, then drooped again as he slumped a little. Ricky raised an eyebrow. <em>Is this a sensitive point for him? </em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m… actually divorced. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Well, shit. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Oh… “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yikes. Well that’s one landmine right there. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry to hear about that. “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine. It’s been a while now. “</p><p> </p><p>It certainly didn’t seem like it. Ricky could tell the hints of melancholy in Tinsley’s slightly strained voice, in Tinsley's downwards gaze, in Tinsley's slumping shoulders. Ricky saw a man scorched by the wrongs of the past, a man whose scars were so poorly healed, they resembled freshly inflicted wounds in the searing pain they bore. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I brought it up, “ Ricky carefully offered. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley studied his companion. The latter’s expressions had softened, his dark eyes gazing at the bare ground. </p><p> </p><p>What a strange contrast to this man’s utter lack of inhibition at times. But he did seem genuinely apologetic. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Would he understand?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, I know those things don’t come natural to Mr. Ladies’ Man. “</p><p> </p><p>“Why you son of a bitch- “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley laughed, genuinely. Ricky gave him a look, before joining him in playful banter. </p><p> </p><p>Although the question remained unasked, the detective wondered, once again, if Ricky Goldsworth perhaps <em>did</em> have a heart after all. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>The rest of the stroll had been enjoyable, but unmemorable. Ricky thanked Tinsley for the “date”; Tinsley insisted it wasn’t one. Ricky laughed, then left the precinct at around the same time as usual. </p><p> </p><p>It had been... a pleasant day. </p><p> </p><p>But all pleasant days eventually come to a halt. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley couldn’t remember what exactly started it. Ricky Goldsworth showed up at Holly’s door, and the detective had let him in — as usual. They probably argued over chip flavours, or something asinine like that — as usual. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn’t know what got to him. But somewhere down the line, he had finally blurted out what he’d been wondering. Well, one thing he’d been wondering. </p><p> </p><p>It probably wasn’t the best timing. </p><p> </p><p>Because Ricky Goldsworth exploded. </p><p> </p><p>“And what of it?! “</p><p> </p><p>“Calm down Ricky, I meant no offense… “ Tinsley put his hands up in surrender. “But don’t you think your anger was misdirected? He didn’t do it, after all- “</p><p> </p><p>“HE’S ONE OF MY DEAREST FRIENDS, TINSLEY! DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW I FELT WHEN I KNEW? DO YOU KNOW HOW IT FELT TRYING TO CATCH AIR? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s voice was raised several octaves as it broke at the top note. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley knew he should’ve tried to defuse the situation. But his own pot had been simmering for days now, to a point where the detective could no longer contain it. </p><p> </p><p>“So that’s why you murdered an eyewitness? That’s your excuse for taking away a human life? “ he retorted coldly. </p><p> </p><p>“YOU KNOW JOHN WAS BOUGHT! HE’S NOT INNOCENT! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT HE DID? HE LET THEM IN- “</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you going to look at yourself, Goldsworth? “ Tinsley finally snapped. “You killed NINE people, for fuck’s sake! If there’s anyone who’s not innocent, it’s YOU! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s sentence was cut abruptly, the words strangled before they could exit his throat. His jaw dropped as he remained silent for a second, clearly taken aback. Tinsley could see the shorter man’s fists ball up at his sides. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine. You know what, fuck you, “ Ricky spat. “I thought we could’ve had some semblance of a decent interaction yesterday, but clearly I was wrong. To you, I’ll only ever be a murderer. I did kill nine people, and I had my reasons. But clearly you wouldn’t understand. I was being stupid, and this is a waste of time. A monumental waste of time. “ </p><p> </p><p>Then he chuckled sadly, a dark, maniacal glint forming in his eyes as the corner of his lip ticked a little too high. Ricky stared straight into Tinsley's soul, and sent a shiver down Tinsley’s spine. “I should head back to more serious business, detective. After all, to you and to the press, I am a serial killer. I haven’t gone through my list yet. “ </p><p> </p><p>The colour immediately drained from Tinsley’s face as he could feel a wave of shock and dread take over him. But before he could utter a word, the White Wolf had already stomped out of the doorframe and stormed out of the station. </p><p> </p><p>“Ricky, wait, no! SHIT! “</p><p> </p><p>The detective ran after his suspect, but his efforts were in vain as he stopped at the entrance and saw the shorter silhouette hop into a car and drive away in record speed. Tinsley was still panting before a very confused Darla when the alarming realization dawned him. </p><p> </p><p>He had to act fast, or there would be a number ten. </p><p> </p><p>Who was he even kidding? No matter how friendly Ricky Goldsworth was, a murderer was still <em>a murderer</em>, Tinsley thought as he rushed back to Holly’s office, grabbed the telephone and dialled up a number frantically. The more he stalled, the more victims there would be. Such appeared to be the game of Ricky Goldsworth. </p><p> </p><p>“Holly Horsley speaking, who may this be? “</p><p> </p><p>“Holly! “ Tinsley huffed loudly through the speaker. “It’s bad, everything’s bad, we <em>have</em> to do something, he’s going to kill someone! “</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley? What’s going on- “</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, this is Tinsley! “ the detective cut impatiently. “Ricky, no, the White Wolf. The <em>list</em>, Holly! Do you know <em>anything</em> about the list? “</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, I’m going to need to you to give me more structure and context, Tinsley. I don’t read minds, “ Holly replied calmly, a slight hint of annoyance in her voice. “Tell me, what exactly happened while I was gone? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sighed in frustration, then took a deep breath and grabbed the employment record on the desk, waving it around as he attempted to explain the situation to his client. </p><p> </p><p>“I found some info on McFishe’s death, and stupidly tried to confront the guy about it. We had a fight, and now he says he’s going through a ‘list’ of people to murder. Do you have ANY clue as to what this list might be, Holly? “ </p><p> </p><p>“You know I’m coming back tomorrow, right? We could discuss this tomorrow. “</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Holly, I’m imploring you! “ Tinsley cried out, glancing at the empty photo frame of the desk. “We really don’t need another unnecessary death on our hands! “</p><p> </p><p>There was a long sigh on the other side of the line. <em>Greene, Graham, Gordon</em>… Tinsley waited nervously, scanning aimlessly through the names of the employment record to distract himself. </p><p> </p><p>Then Holly broke the silence. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay. I will tell you everything I know, " she replied simply. "But keep in mind, it will be a long story involving several parties. Come to XX Cafe by five. I’m not revealing information in a building I do not trust… “</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley was hardly listening anymore. Holly’s usually confident voice about the impromptu meeting had been muffled inside the detective’s mind, swimming through a murky tempest of buzzing questions freshly released from the nest. </p><p> </p><p>Then everything went blank. </p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley? Are you still there? “</p><p> </p><p>A loud thud rang through Holly’s phone as the private investigator’s telephone receiver landed on the cold marble floor. Radio silence on the detective’s side. </p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s mind went blank. Not even Holly’s concerned voice could rival the bold, jet black letters that glared back at him like a blaring red sign. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Goldsworth, Ricky. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Title: Detective. Department: CPD. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Termination of employment: October 8th, 1950. </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>send kudos to sponsor Tinsley's cardio workout</p><p>holy moly 250 hits!!! thank you so much for your support also your comments give me life please continue to feed the author yes yes very good</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Ricky Goldsworth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw death, homophobia, graphic depictions of violence</p><p>hello! just a heads up, this is an italics-heavy chapter, so fyi:<br/>NORMAL FONT = present time<br/>ITALICS = ricky's memories and thoughts</p><p>enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ricky Goldsworth wasn’t always a feckless murderer. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Found it!! Look at this, I finally found it!!! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky beamed excitedly as he brandished a small, inconspicuous piece of paper, waving it as enthusiastically as a happy puppy’s wagging tail. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You did it, Ricky, “ a soft female voice said endearingly. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“We can finally close the case now, momma. Holly’s going to be so glad when she hears about this! “ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sunshine flooded the young Goldsworth’s glimmering eyes. He jumped and embraced an older, black-haired woman before him, gripping tightly onto the earthly colours of her autumnal coat. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky Goldsworth worked under me as a detective, “ Holly continued coolly. She gazed absently at the passing cars on the streets as she sipped her drink at the sidewalk coffee shop. “Along with his mother, Lucy Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lucy sighed and smiled kindly, her eyes half-lidded but full of good intentions. “So, how do you find it? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I love it, momma! I never knew catching criminals could be this much fun, or I would’ve jumped in sooner! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I knew you’d fit right in, “ the woman Ricky called momma chuckled gently. “You have the potential for it, my Golden boy. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Wouldn’t be the son of detective Lucy Goldsworth otherwise, “ Ricky winked. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Lucy Goldsworth, née Gold, was indisputably one of the brightest detectives I’ve ever had the honour to employ. She had a solid 30 years of experience in the field, and would not hesitate to undertake missions and employ methods others would’ve easily dubbed a suicide mission. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You’re such a flatterer, Ricky, “ Lucy laughed. “You know I don’t care for name fame, though. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“But perhaps it was her unrelenting pursuit of justice that molded her, directed her and made her into the brilliant woman she was. To the city of Chicago, she wasn’t simply the mayor’s wife, or a wealthy wastrel of sorts. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Come on, momma! You almost died in your last mission trying to trace that guy’s gun, you really don’t care for the credits? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lucy’s look softened. “As long as the family of the deceased gets a well-deserved closure, I am content with that. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“By all accounts, Lucy Goldsworth was a just and courageous woman who refused to define herself by her marital and societal status, and who absolutely did not hesitate to put herself in peril for the greater good. “ </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You know, you deserve the world, momma, “ Ricky said lovingly. “You really do. And I hope I can do even half as much good as you bring to the world. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Oh, don’t you worry a thing, my Golden boy. You are gifted in your own unique way. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Naturally, Ricky followed his mother’s steps, and began training for the police force at age 20. Three years later, and he was part of the CPD’s ranks as a detective. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Congratulations, Ricky! You did it! You’re a detective now! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky set the congratulatory letter down, and turned around. A dark-haired woman, whose flawless complexion was largely veiled by her tinted sunglasses and sunhat, waved at him. He smiled. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Thank you, madame FBI. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be this well surrounded. He had a kindhearted momma who could quite literally save the world; a childhood friend who was now an FBI agent, of all things; a somewhat severe employer who also happened to be the best lawyer in town. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of person was Ricky? “ Tinsley asked, quietly. </p><p> </p><p>He observed as Holly slowly placed her cup onto the cosy wooden table. “Ricky wasn’t as experienced as his mother, “ she recalled dryly. “But what he lacked in experience, he made up for in spades with his candour. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Heavens knew how stressed Ricky was. He’d be lying if he said those cold azure eyes didn’t terrify him. Those were the eyes of a ruthless lawyer, hardened by years of slacking officers and disingenuous criminals. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Surely she wouldn’t tolerate the slightest slip-up. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky glanced at the soft manila folder in his hands. His first official case as a solo investigator. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He really wanted to do this right. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He closed his eyes and thought very hard. How would Lucy tackle this? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Think about the closure the family would get, “ the soft motherly voice rang through his ears. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She was right. The victims did nothing wrong. They were good people, just like Lucy. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“He poured his heart in all of the cases I assigned him to. Always went the extra mile. In homicide cases, he relentlessly sought out the complete truth for the victims’ families. In drug and fraud cases, he made sure to incriminate the culprits as much as possible so that the money would be returned to where it was due. And then, when I hired Mayor as his assistant-detective, they seemed to click instantly. Ricky would develop those elaborate plans on how to solve his cases, and Mayor would loyally follow him, executing the plan with clockwork precision. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Slowly but surely, Holly Horsley, the most feared lawyer in Chicago, began to show subtle appreciation for Ricky’s novice work. But he had to credit Mayor for it. He didn’t know what he’d do without the taciturn, shorter man. It wasn’t as though hooking a suspect’s diary with a fishing rod from the second floor was an easy feat. He couldn’t ask Lucy for help all the time either; that defeated the purpose of becoming a detective of his own. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Thank God his new assistant seemed on board with his batshit crazy plans. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Together, they became a deadly duo whose effectiveness could probably rival Lucy Goldsworth’s in less than a decade. They were some of my proudest hires in a while. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Mayor was… Well, Ricky didn’t really know either. Mayor wasn’t exactly a chatterbox. Always watched his surroundings with calm, frustratingly unreadable hazel eyes, his stance nonchalant and serious all at once. Mayor would’ve made an excellent poker player, if only he’d been into gambling. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But judging from his silent enabling of Ricky’s grand ideas, surely he’d at least share some of Ricky’s world views. Who else in their right mind would willingly lure criminals into detective-napping them just so they could tape the conversation? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky wasn’t naturally keen in that he always found the most damning evidence, but in that he was incredibly in tune with the feelings of all parties involved, including himself. He wouldn’t hesitate to get involved personally, and that included confronting gossipy journalists head-to-head about unconfirmed evidence. He defended the CPD and his family like his life depended on it. In an endearing way, it was perhaps one of his greatest qualities as a detective. “</p><p> </p><p>“He was the opposite of me, “ Tinsley commented.</p><p> </p><p>“He was the opposite of you. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Good things befall those who side with law and order, “ Ricky thought. Or at least, so he wished. While he couldn’t bring the dead back to life, he could at least figure out the truth for the surviving family. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It was the least he could do. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Unfortunately, emotional over-investment can bring one a plague of woes. It’s a double-edged sword, really, “ Holly continued, her facial expression falling. “You see, Ricky Goldsworth was very fond of his mother. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Who wouldn’t be fond of Lucy Goldsworth? She was the epitome of a badass lady who wouldn’t yield her values for anything. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Well, Francesca Norris was a close contender. Perhaps Ricky did have a habit of collecting badass women in his entourage. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Badass women who wouldn’t hesitate to defend him when he was caught publicly kissing a male classmate at the dawn of his 18th birthday. He remembered how terrified he had been of discovering his own limitless attraction, and how much more upset his father had been upon learning the same thing. It wasn’t because the older man despised his kind; rather, it was because of the festering rumours that ensued, conveniently before municipal election season. Ricky Goldsworth had become the talk of the town: the mayor’s son was a nancyboy, and strangers wouldn’t stop bothering the family over it. And every night, Robert Goldsworth held his head between his hands, and grew some more white hair. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lucy, on the other hand, didn’t tolerate any of the gossip around her family. Ricky wasn’t quite sure what she did, but the rumours didn’t take long before they died down when she found out. To him, she had remained free of judgment; she had always encouraged her darling son to love whoever he wanted to. Everything went so fast after that. Fran later admitted that she was also not exactly straight. His father was re-elected mayor by an overwhelming majority, and had stopped expressing any discontentment in Ricky’s direction. Maybe Robert Goldsworth even accepted his son’s attractions. Slowly but surely, Ricky felt safe and confident enough to be himself, and unapologetically so. Ricky was simply being Ricky, and the townspeople went along with it eventually. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He couldn’t be more grateful for his dear momma. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It was about a month after the summer solstice last year. I assigned Lucy Goldsworth to a series of heroin overdose-related deaths that had appeared unnatural. Ricky was on a separate drug case. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Seems like there are a lot of drug cases lately, “ Ricky had joked. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Yeah… “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lucy frowned as she examined a black-and-white CCTV footage. She rapidly jotted down some scrawled notes onto her pad. Ricky looked at his focused mother with a curious gaze. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Found something interesting? “ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I think so. Might have a lead here. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Holy- mind sharing some of that intelligence over here, momma? You’re working way too fast! “ Ricky chuckled, but struggled to conceal his awe. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh, how proud he was to call Lucy Goldsworth his mother. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You’ll pick up the speed eventually, Ricky, “ the veteran detective said softly, lifting her head to meet her son’s gaze. “You’re already doing great. Come take a look. What do you think? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky got up, and approached Lucy’s screen, his eyes squinting at the grainy footage, before widening in realization. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“That… isn’t that… ? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I know, “ Lucy replied calmly. “I think we found the link between the ODs. Just need to retrieve that bag. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“But momma, aren’t they going to find out? ... “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky could feel a nameless dread engulf him. Even for a man of crazy plans such as himself, something told him this was a bad idea. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I’m sure they will. I’m going to call up a few officers to back me up. I won't go alone, don’t worry, “ Lucy smiled. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Are you heading there tonight? “ Ricky asked quietly. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I think so, yeah. Might as well get this case done. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lucy’s words were calm and soothing, yet Ricky couldn’t help but feel residual uneasiness lurching in his stomach. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Please promise me you’ll come back safe, momma. “ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky’s voice was quietly pleading. The loving mother looked at her son’s worried expression, and </em>
  <em>sighed. She pulled the younger detective in for a gentle embrace. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I promise, my Golden boy, “ Lucy replied softly as she offered Ricky a small smile, serene as a Mona Lisa. “This isn’t my first time hunting for risky leads, remember? We have it easy here, but do remember countless people are out there suffering, waiting for us to do our work. I’ll be fine. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lucy felt the arms clutching onto her back tighten. She chuckled. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Come on, I’ve got to go now, Ricky. Don’t drink too much coffee this time, yeah? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I won’t. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I love you, my dear. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“That night, Lucy Goldsworth left Chicago to investigate a lead, and never returned. She was found in an alleyway in Springfield, having sustained a fatal gunshot wound. “ </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“No, this can’t be real… This can’t be real! Tell me you’re joking, Ms. Horsley! “ Ricky cried out shakily, grabbing the azure-eyed blonde by the shoulders. The hysterical detective was on the brink of tears. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Holly’s face remained sullen. “I’m sorry, Ricky. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I need to go see her! Let me go! What happened to the officers who were supposed to back her? Where are they? TELL ME! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Allegedly, Lucy had requested officers to accompany her to Springfield. However, her body was found alone, with no records of anyone at the department ever following her to her demise. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This couldn’t be. It had to be a nightmare, Ricky thought as he hurried onto the train compartment. Despite Horsley’s best efforts in halting him, he wouldn’t believe it unless he saw it himself. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>His heart dropped several stories underground when he saw the cold, lifeless female body lying on the hard concrete amidst barricade tapes that were way too cheerfully yellow for the bleak atmosphere of the scene. Dried carmine streaks gently caressed the black-haired woman’s pale, exanimate face, as though lulling her into everlasting slumber. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I did try to investigate my best detective’s untimely death. But because her death did not occur in Chicago, I was unable to take over her case. The DA from Springfield was the one who opened the official investigation, and they refused to transfer the case despite my calls. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“WHY WON’T YOU DO SOMETHING, HORSLEY! AREN’T YOU A POWERFUL LAWYER? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky banged ceaselessly on the heavy wooden door, until his knuckles flushed angrily. But the oozing pain radiating from the young detective’s fists paled in comparison to the storm raging within his grieving heart. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“PLEASE HELP ME, HORSLEY! I’M BEGGING YOU, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He implored at the door until the entirety of his shirt had been soaked, until all of his knuckles were raw, until his voice cracked in its painful hoarseness. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The door wouldn’t budge. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“They weren’t ever able to name a suspect in Lucy’s case, “ Holly continued gravely. “Ultimately, the judges from the other county ruled her death a suicide. Since then, Ricky Goldsworth hadn’t been the same. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why would tragedy befall such a kindhearted soul? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why can’t I even find justice for my own mother? Why can’t I even find out who did it? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Does anything even matter anymore? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m a failed detective, and this is a failed system. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It was all a lie. Who the fuck even cares about law and order? Misery befalls those who side with law and order. What a fucking irony. I can’t even avenge my mother. I couldn’t even say goodbye. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And the bastard got away with it, scot-free. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“He did come in for work the following weeks. But everyone could tell his absence of mind. He’d sit at his desk and stare emptily at case files with vacant eyes. He was almost catatonic. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fran would come visit him and console him. His own father became more lenient towards him. Holly Horsley would call the Goldsworth manor, but he could scarcely find the will to answer her. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>They managed to move Lucy’s resting place to Chicago. He visited the stone cold grave, and felt nothing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Nothing really mattered to Ricky anymore. He felt… numb. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“This went on until October. The department still had to operate as normally, despite losing essentially two key detectives. So I kept press releases to a minimum, telling them a few detectives resigned from their positions. I promoted Banjo McClintock to chief officer, and assigned him the case of the Poison Ivy. I figured I’d alleviate Ricky’s workload, considering his grieving state. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He didn’t remember how he got the idea of the list. He surely didn’t expect this to be his career turn. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh well, Fran was supportive of him, and this would certainly be more productive than whatever he was doing before. Someone had to do the dirty work, or more innocent lives would be claimed. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He was tired of playing the powerless villager. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“The morning of October 8th, I found a plainly packaged letter on my desk. It was Ricky Goldsworth’s resignation letter. Simple and short. He didn’t delve into any specific reasons for his sudden decision, but I suspected he was still devastated. I was going to let it pass. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly paused. Her face scrunched up in a frowning expression as she reminisced the uncomfortable past. </p><p> </p><p>“That same morning, Banjo came to see me. His main suspect, Belle Livingston, had been found unconscious in her apartment. It looked like a suicide at first. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“She radiated care and kindness for the world. It’s a shame she had to be a detective, “ Ricky muttered as he emptied the pill bottle Fran had supplied into the motionless mouth. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“If you’re going to kill a bunch of people, might as well have some fun with it, “ he said to no one, smirking maniacally. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Might as well make himself business cards, he thought. Write with the other hand or something. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“They later ruled out the suicide hypothesis due to head trauma sustained before death. But I knew Ricky had been involved as soon as Banjo told me. He knew Livingston was Banjo’s case. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“A good parting gift for the CPD, “ Ricky laughed to himself bitterly. Funny how he did more this time than in any of his cases. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I tried to call Ricky and confront him about it, but he denied any connections to the crime. There wasn’t any concrete evidence suggesting he did it, either. “</p><p> </p><p>“So that brings us to the White Wolf’s timeline, “ Tinsley remarked. </p><p> </p><p>“It does. At first, the entire department did not believe my hypothesis. They didn’t even think the first three cases were even remotely linked together. It wasn’t until Walter’s body showed up with those White Wolf cards that they finally picked up what I’d been positing for months. Even then, no one believed Ricky Goldsworth was the culprit. They think he left because of a mental breakdown. And while my team works on the White Wolf murders, they are quite ‘by-the-book’, so as long there is no evidence suggesting that Ricky did it, they wouldn’t consider him a suspect. If anything, their perspective is skewed in favour of Ricky, because they’ve worked with him and he had no past history of violence. This went on for months, and I finally couldn’t take it anymore. “</p><p> </p><p>“So you hired me. “</p><p> </p><p>“So I hired you. “</p><p> </p><p>“But what about Mayor? What happened to him? “ </p><p> </p><p>“Mayor… “ Holly’s voice trailed off. “Unlike Ricky, Mayor did not resign from the CPD. Strange, since he had been so loyal to the ex-detective. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky’s voice was smooth and calm. His dark hat cast shadows on his veiled eyes under the pale moonlight. His smile was inviting, to say the very least. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But the shorter man before him did not falter, his police badge proudly displayed on his chest pocket. He coolly lit a cigar, the smokes and burning scent enveloping the air between the now ex-coworkers. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You’ve seen what happened to Lucy. Don’t you think it’s dangerous there? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Mayor shook his head. And nothing Ricky said would convince him not to. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“In January, I assigned Mayor to a drug case, and he ended up uncovering a sizable drug ring controlled by the Mafia. He did gain some popularity within the community for it. “</p><p> </p><p>“Which is why I’ve heard townspeople speak of him, “ Tinsley mused. </p><p> </p><p>“That is certainly possible, “ Holly replied simply. “It may also be why his death was even covered by the White Wolf-hungry news. “</p><p> </p><p>“What happened to him? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it is exactly as you know it, Tinsley. Shot by the Mafia. Cases like these unfortunately bear a high risk of retaliation, but someone’s got to take them on. I’m fairly certain Ricky caught wind of it, as White Wolf killings halted for a few weeks following Mayor’s death. Then came McFishe, as we already know. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Should’ve come with me, you idiot, “ Ricky muttered as he stared emptily at the carnage below him. Carefully, he wiped his prized golden blade clean with a handkerchief, and pulled out a small, immaculately white card which he placed into the inert man’s bloodied palm. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Misery really did befall those who sided with law and order. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He clenched his fist, digging his nails into his own skin. Just like Lucy, he couldn’t even find the actual killer. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This’ll have to do. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“So what about the list? “ Tinsley inquired. </p><p> </p><p>Holly sighed. The dying sun, along with the coffee shop’s customers, was on the cusp of leaving them in the company of a cool breezy night. </p><p> </p><p>“To be frank with you, Tinsley, I have never heard him refer to any list of sorts. But you do need to understand that it’s been months since I’ve had a civil conversation with Ricky Goldsworth. However, I strongly suspect that he’s on the prowl for Lucy’s killer. That, and getting rid of known serial killers and murderers whom he thinks shouldn’t be acquitted. I doubt he’ll stop before he finds out who killed Lucy. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Horsley never stopped bugging him. Even Fran said she noticed CPD officers trying to track her down. He figured that with the way he said goodbye, this was simply an enemy he’d have to live with now. As long as his dad wasn’t privy to his operations, he was fine with things as they were. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And then the annoying detective had to make an appearance. Long legged, witty, and exuding that same insufferable sense of justice as Horsley. If only he could be bought. Of course life wouldn’t be easy on him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But he didn’t expect Sharp Eye to catch him within a week. He also didn’t expect to see such dumb, naive kindness in the detective, the same he’d adored from Lucy. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck, what was Fran even thinking? Getting to know C.C. Tinsley was a mistake. This guy is bound to die some day or another. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? “ Tinsley asked quietly. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Holly’s expression softened into a dejected look. “I wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t side with Ricky Goldsworth. I wanted you to prove your convictions first. I do admit it, Ricky’s story is a tragic one, and the system and I have done him grievous injustice. But his reaction is unforgivable, Tinsley. He needs to be tried for his acts. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I can’t stop now. Especially not now, when I’ve finally got a lead. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Closure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cool April breeze softly brushed against his cheeks. The air was slightly damp, and the cold, naked branches rustled lightly under a dark moonless sky. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky kicked the pebbles and rocks beneath him as he swayed around aimlessly on the garden swing, ebbing back and forth, the rusty chains singing out of tune. </p><p> </p><p>Forwards. Backwards. Forwards. Backwards. </p><p> </p><p>He could still feel the gentle push behind his back as Lucy Goldsworth's hearty laughter echoed through his memories. He could still feel the twinge forming in his chest, and witness it thorn through his heart before reverting to the same dull ache he carried, every. Damn. Day. </p><p> </p><p>But he wouldn't let it stop. </p><p> </p><p>Not until he found the bastard. </p><p> </p><p>A muffled footstep, and then another. Cautious. Hesitant. </p><p> </p><p>“Not now, Rose, “ Ricky sighed out, a slight hint of annoyance in his tone. </p><p> </p><p>“Whoever Rose may be, I’m not her. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky flinched. He recognized the male voice that answered him. Soft, low, and devoid of haste. </p><p> </p><p>A tall, khaki-coated silhouette shuffled next to him, and sat down on the neighbouring swing seat, the chains clinking as they welcomed the delicate man aboard. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky sighed. “What do you want, Sharpie? “</p><p> </p><p>“I… came to apologize. For the things I said earlier. “</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley’s voice was tentative. Timid.  </p><p> </p><p>A pause. </p><p> </p><p>“So you broke into my garden at one in the morning? “</p><p> </p><p>“Your maid let me in, for the record. “</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Rose, “ Ricky grumbled, cursing under his breath. “Look, I thought I was clear on my intentions. You owe me no apology, detective- “</p><p> </p><p>“But Ricky- “</p><p> </p><p>“-and I owe you no explanations as to why I do the things I do. I simply do. I’ve thought about it, and I was wrong about you. There’s no way you’ll understand me, so we should just not bother. You’re just like Horsley. And I walk a very different path from both of you- “</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>“-so there’s no fucking way you’d sympathize with a murderer such as myself. So I might as well continue down my path, you mind your own little detective business, we can kiss that get-to-know-each-other bullshit goodbye and no one tries to convince the other to switch camps- “</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ricky</em>. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s never-ending ramble was abruptly cut short by Tinsley’s sudden change of tone. The soft and soothing low voice had morphed into something much firmer, something more insistent in nature. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened, and he turned to the other swing seat. </p><p> </p><p>"You know, you truly are an asshole of the highest order, “ Tinsley let out exasperatedly. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you. “</p><p> </p><p>“No thank you. “</p><p> </p><p>“You son of a- “</p><p> </p><p>“I heard what happened to your mother. “ </p><p> </p><p>A pause. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I am sorry, Ricky, “ the soothing voice continued, an unfamiliar softness to it. “For what I told you, but also for what happened to her. For what happened to Lucy Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>It really came up as an involuntary reaction, one that was halfway done before Ricky could even register the hot and heavy tears welling up in his eyes, and pouring down his cheeks like the fucking avalanche. Months of well-contained aches had exploded all at once, and Ricky sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. </p><p> </p><p>His voice cracked in an ugly bawl, punctuated by hiccups here and there. </p><p> </p><p>“She… She was such a kind woman-hic! A-an a-a-angel descended from hic! Heaven… The world has been SO UNFAIR to her, Tins! Hic! She w-was the greatest momma I could’ve ever a-asked f-f-for… Always there for me-hic! Always th-there for others… “</p><p> </p><p>He sniffled loudly and wiped his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“A-and how does the world repay her? They couldn’t even f-find who killed her! How ironical that such a brilliant detective becomes an unsolved case?! It’s like a fish drowning in fucking water! A-and I warned her, I told her it was a bad idea, and the cops were supposed to back her up… They were nowhere to be found, Tinsley! They let her down, and just allowed her to fucking walk to her death, and then they slapped a big fat ‘SUICIDE’ onto the folder and called it a day! She served the justice system her entire life, you know? And this is how they repay her? Blatant disrespect?? Her passing treated like a one-line joke??? “ </p><p> </p><p>Ricky paused to catch his breath. Tinsley remained completely silent, his gaze trained on the shorter man. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You know, I really wanted to believe that good things befell good people. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t even say goodbye to her, “ Ricky continued, his barely audible voice breaking mid-sentence. </p><p> </p><p>A heavy pause. Then, he heard some light shuffling on the detective’s side. </p><p> </p><p>“I can tell you miss her very much, “ Tinsley finally said gently. </p><p> </p><p>“I do. I miss her, every day, “ Ricky echoed, staring absently into the deserted garden. His unsteady breathing had resumed to normal. “I think of the good memories we had, and how wonderful of a human being she was. I was robbed of her, Tinsley. She was gone too soon. “</p><p> </p><p>A silence. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley cleared his throat. “I can’t say that I’ve gone through what you did, and I can’t say I’ve seen my mother fight for justice and die for it. But yours certainly did. I think that’s an honourable thing. And I can see why you were so fond of her. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky lifted his gaze, and looked at the detective. There wasn’t a hint of pity on that tall man’s pale, stubbly face. No, Tinsley’s dilated pupils reflected the faraway streetlights in an incredibly soft, mournful way. And for a moment there, the Goldsworth heir wondered what lied beneath those deep brown pools that could hold things with great care and kindness. <em>A kindness only Lucy could rival. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Have you… ever lost someone close? “ Ricky asked, quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley stared into the distance pensively, and let out a soft sigh. </p><p> </p><p>“I have. Years ago. It hurt, for a while. But then you get used to it. I guess it’s the same as you, Ricky, “ he mused. </p><p> </p><p>“But you haven’t murdered anyone. “</p><p> </p><p>“But I haven’t murdered anyone, yeah. “ Tinsley chuckled as he scratched the nape of his neck lightly. </p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you even going to tell me off for it? Tell me what I’m doing is wrong? “ </p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll admit it, I usually would, “ Tinsley finally replied. “But now’s not the time. I dislike you, Ricky, but I’m not a monster. And, I can see that you love your mother dearly, and that you have some… semblance of a sense of justice. “</p><p> </p><p>And there it was again. Those soft, brown eyes. This time, staring directly into Ricky’s soul. Kind. Free of judgment. </p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes we make mistakes, but all we have to do is patch it up somehow. Eventually, “ Tinsley continued calmly, breaking eye contact. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky tried not to think of the detective’s gratuitous, naive wisdom. He thought of it anyway. It was the same kind of stupid selflessness Lucy had the misfortune of upholding. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This fucking guy, he’s gonna get killed sooner or later. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky cleared his throat. “Just so you know, I have no intentions of stopping just because you came to my backyard in the middle of the night. “</p><p> </p><p>“I figured. Also, you’re the one who’s awake in the middle of the night in the first place, “ Tinsley pointed out. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you. “ </p><p> </p><p>“No thank you. “</p><p> </p><p>“Who even told you? “</p><p> </p><p>“What, your story or your location? “</p><p> </p><p>“Both, you town dunce, “ Ricky sighed and rolled his eyes. Patience was a virtue, and he ran out of it the moment Tinsley came to town. </p><p> </p><p>Except Tinsley broke out in an unrestrained laughter as he curled up to support his stomach. His eyes crinkled up in a way Ricky had never seen. <em>Well, shit. This guy laughs like the fucking sun. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, “ the detective said, finally catching his breath. “Holly told me your story. No one told me your location because no one knew, so I just looked around town until I found you. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky tried not to think of the way those coffee-coloured eyes crinkled up when C.C. Tinsley laughed his heart out. He thought of it anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“Anyways, “ Ricky shook his head and continued. “Point is, I am going to find out who killed her. "</p><p> </p><p>“This is why you wanted me to dig as much as I can, right? “</p><p> </p><p>“Huh? “</p><p> </p><p>“The deal we had. You wanted me to dig this up, so I could help you look for the killer? “ Tinsley asked, not a hint of hesitation in his voice. </p><p> </p><p>“… Yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky lowered his head. He did entertain the delusional thought. But the odds were so ever slim. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll do it. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky blinked. <em>Did I hear correctly? </em></p><p> </p><p>“Huh? “</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll help you find the killer, “ the taller man said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>“But you- “</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t get me wrong here, Ricky, “ Tinsley interrupted before Ricky could retort. “Let me be very clear. What happened to you is unfortunate, but what you did afterwards is unforgivable. I still intend for your crimes to be tried. Holly hired me to catch you, and I am not giving up on the case. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Figures. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“But I won’t do that before you find your mother’s killer. I’ll help you investigate. That’s what you’re killing for, right? That’s why you killed the accomplice to Mayor’s murder, “ the private investigator continued coolly. Ricky flinched at the two forsaken syllables. </p><p> </p><p>“… Guess you know about Mayor too, “ he muttered, dejected. </p><p> </p><p>“The point is, I think you’re looking for closure, Ricky. You’ve been searching for it for months. It’s about time you get a helping hand. You’re a terrible person, but I think I can at least afford you closure as a send-off. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley gazed at the ground, almost mournfully. But Ricky didn’t pick that up. Ricky was too busy trying to register what was happening here. This out-of-town imbecile, hired to catch HIM, was offering to help HIM? It felt like a weird fever dream. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Think about the closure the family would get. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But he guessed it’d come to this.</p><p> </p><p>No matter how much of an imbecile this guy was, Ricky had to — hated to — admit it: C.C. Tinsley was kind, overly so. <em>Probably-will-get-killed-someday</em> level kind. And those bright fucking crinkles wouldn’t leave him alone. </p><p> </p><p>So he says, “Okay. “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re quite the man of words, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you. “</p><p> </p><p>“No thank you, “ Tinsley chuckled with a softness that sent Ricky’s fist clenching, and Ricky’s stomach fluttering. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I could always kill him if he lies to my face. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for your kind comments &amp; for reading!! i'm sorry i'll probably respond to your comments tomorrow because of Too Many Spirits Live (by the way, anyone going?), but i swear i read them and i appreciate every one of them &lt;3 </p><p>subscribe to watcher y'all</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Get in Loser, We're Going out for Dinner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>People tend to lie about their intentions. </p><p> </p><p>Or their feelings. Or their identity. </p><p> </p><p>Point is, nobody would ever allow their entirety to be out in the open, for the whole world to pick apart as woodpeckers did mercilessly with pine barks. </p><p> </p><p>Individuals “befriending” upper classes solely for the sake of vertical mobility. Spouses opening secondary bank accounts to spite their partner. Criminals going undercover as lawful citizens to evade conviction. Hell, Tinsley even saw a family stage their own children’s death once, for movie rights no less. </p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t even have to be anything of malicious intent. Holly did it to maintain her professional image. Banjo did it to keep his job. Tinsley himself did it for self-preservation. </p><p> </p><p>And sure, eventually they’d open up, bit by bit, to a select few people. Friends told each other secrets all the time. Coworkers, especially in the field of crime, divulged information to each other for the sake of case advancement. But usually, a fleeting gaze in the flash of a second told Tinsley more than words ever did. So he relied on that for years, built a career for himself around it. </p><p> </p><p>And then Ricky Goldsworth happened. </p><p> </p><p>You see, no one in their sane mind would willingly open up to hostile strangers, let alone mortal enemies. </p><p> </p><p>Sane mind being the operative words here. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley should’ve known Ricky was a madman of his own kind. Yet, he was still absolutely baffled by the raw vulnerability Ricky Goldsworth exuded on that cool, breezy night of April. Tinsley had looked for the man all night after his encounter with Holly, and found him swinging alone in his vast, deserted garden. Tinsley couldn’t remember what he said exactly; probably some poorly crafted apology over their earlier… disagreement. </p><p> </p><p>What Tinsley <em>did</em> remember though, was the flood of emotions that poured out of Ricky’s deep, dark eyes. That night, a dam had broken permanently, and Tinsley had become the receiving end of Ricky’s unfiltered tears, Ricky’s ceaseless sobs, Ricky’s voice cracks… </p><p> </p><p>Of Ricky’s grief over a mother he very much cherished. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky spoke of her, tenderly. He missed her, terribly. And the way his fists clutched tightly at the rusty chains spoke volumes for Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was used to perceiving the unspoken words. Picking up on incendiary glares, nervous fingers drumming on a table, the missing beat of a half-hearted laughter. It was his job, after all, and it did lead him to investigating Ricky Goldsworth in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>But what Tinsley did not expect was the speaking of the unspoken. The voicing out of fears and worries and grudges past. Ricky was an insane man for going head-to-head against that man in the bar, and he was an insane man for crying over his mother in front of a detective who very much would send him to jail. </p><p> </p><p>It was a sight that profoundly disturbed Tinsley. Because it clashed with everything he knew. No one in their sane mind would willingly open up to an enemy, and yet here Ricky was, weeping over his mother’s death, as though Tinsley had been an empty swing. </p><p> </p><p>It felt like witnessing the Eighth Wonder of the World. Tinsley almost wanted to be part of it, if he had that much audacity. </p><p> </p><p>Holly was right. Ricky was a candid man, and the way he spoke, unfiltered, rang through Tinsley’s head clear as a wind chime, and tugged at something unspeakable in Tinsley’s chest. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley wasn’t an insane man. </p><p> </p><p>So Tinsley simply shook his head, and held Buddy closer to him. The black kitten nuzzled its fuzzy head into Tinsley’s chest. It made the detective feel warm. </p><p> </p><p>Holly had returned to Chicago, earlier than she had intended. Fortunately, number ten didn’t show up. And Tinsley now had two separate case folders on his desk, one of which lied still empty. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps it had been the lengthy, yet intriguing exposition Holly had given him in that niche little coffee shop on the sunny side of the street. Maybe it was Ricky Goldsworth’s quiet voice crack at one in the morning, as both of them sat still on the wooden swings, neither of them having the heart to actually swing. Or maybe Tinsley was just insane. </p><p> </p><p>He’d remember a pair of dead cold eyes, and shove it right back into the depths of his conscience. He’d remember the wilted camellia with its dulled colours, and the bloom it could’ve been. </p><p> </p><p>Closure was not a luxury anyone could afford. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley knew why he offered to investigate Lucy Goldsworth. He just didn’t want to look into it further. He wasn’t an insane man, after all. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley got up, and let go of his little friend. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Time to fill in that folder. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>“Huh? “</p><p> </p><p>“Get in, loser, we’re going out for dinner. “ </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley stared at the polished, glassy shine that coated the vehicle’s sleek, cherry red surface. Even the customarily grumpy precinct campers gaped at this gloss and glamour, parked just close enough to the sidewalk for it to be not a coincidence. Although turned off, the headlights stared at Tinsley as a pair of judging eyes would, calling the unkempt detective poor in seven different languages. This was definitely a car that would break the bank. And in characteristic fashion, Ricky Goldsworth smirked at him, with a sultry gaze and a nonchalant arm resting comfortably on the window side, in a way so casual one would’ve almost thought he was out to grab a lunch worth a dime or less. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley almost dropped the case files. So much for hassling Holly over archive documents. </p><p> </p><p>What kind of game was Ricky Goldsworth playing this time, showing up in theatrical fashion at the police station at eleven in the morning with a lustrous car that probably cost more than the entire building? Tinsley would’ve liked to know.  </p><p> </p><p>Instead, he firmed his grip around the dusty stack of newspaper clippings and photographs, and raised an eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>“Daddy bought you a new fancy car. “</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Tinsley, “ Ricky grumbled as he rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’ve got a reservation there. I’m inviting you to dinner. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>You’re</em> inviting me to dinner.  “ </p><p> </p><p>Ricky let out an exasperated sigh. “No you idiot, I’m poisoning the guy I just hired, “ he replied in a sarcastic tone. “Are you coming or not?! “</p><p> </p><p>“No, “ Tinsley waved dismissively, and turned towards his own car. </p><p> </p><p>“Jesus Chri- for fuck’s sake, wait! “ Ricky interrupted, reaching out and grabbing Tinsley’s worn out sleeve. “I know this seems out of the blue, but I’m not hiring a man without offering them a reward, Tinsley. There’s no way I’m letting Horsley pay you more for my head than for- “</p><p> </p><p>“I said no, Ricky, “ Tinsley spelled out. “Please let go of me. “</p><p> </p><p>“Consider this a celebration of our new alliance, “ Ricky insisted. And with the passing clouds reflecting in those deep, dark eyes, Tinsley almost gave in. He shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m a busy man. I need to work your case, and Lucy’s. I don’t have the time to idle around like a fancy man- “</p><p> </p><p>A loud grumble cut Tinsley’s sentence short, as it bubbled out of Tinsley’s stomach and croaked out for mercy. </p><p> </p><p>Before Tinsley could utter a word, Ricky smirked again as he leaned back into the driver’s seat. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, well, well, I don’t think you have a choice here, Tinman. “</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Fortunately, it wasn’t as snobbish as Tinsley had imagined. </p><p> </p><p>They sat facing each other at a small, yet cozy marble table, surrounded by a U-shaped crimson leather couch. Small chattering of friends and families nearby and the clattering of freshly cleaned dinner plates peppered the background landscape as the waiter hurried to their table with a small notepad. </p><p> </p><p>SUNSET diner, or so the red neon lights seemed to indicate, appeared far from the spectacular opulence Tinsley had imagined it would be. But he was also relieved that Ricky had picked a chic and casual spot over the extravagance he’d come to associate with the man. </p><p> </p><p>“And for you, sir? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked and turned his head. The waiter, a young freckled redhead, looked at him, expectantly but in a timid fashion. “What can I get for you? “ the waiter helpfully supplied. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’ll simply have your… original hamburger here. And a slice of Earl Grey pie, “ Tinsley added as he pointed at the three-panel menu before him. </p><p> </p><p>The waiter nodded and scribbled into his notepad. “Anything to drink, sir? “</p><p> </p><p>“Just a cup of green tea, please. “</p><p> </p><p>“Noted! It won’t be very long, “ the waiter smiled, and shuffled towards the back of the restaurant. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky snorted. “Lost in your thoughts, Tinman? “</p><p> </p><p>“I… “ Tinsley began. He sighed. “It’s just that I’m a little surprised. In a good way, “ he adds. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky raised an eyebrow, his head resting on his palm. Tinsley felt like he was being watched intently. And the offbeat pause was unsettling him deeply. </p><p> </p><p>So he shook his head. “It’s just that I expected ceiling diamonds, silver platters, fancily clad butlers, that kind of thing. You know, the kind of expensive restaurant <em>you</em> would go to. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened. Tinsley wondered if he pissed the man off. </p><p> </p><p>But then Ricky brought his hand over his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt at suppressing the full-bodied laughter that ensued as he slammed the table. </p><p> </p><p>“What? What’s so funny about that? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s arms crossed over his stomach as he attempted to catch his breath. “Christ, I know I <em>am</em> the mayor’s son, and I <em>did</em> drive you here in a Porsche, but I’m not a <em>snob</em>, Tinsley. I’m not going to bring you to a fancy restaurant if you’re clearly uncomfortable with the idea of it. “</p><p> </p><p>“You- okay, “ Tinsley pointed accusingly at Ricky, before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. How this guy even knew was beyond him. Maybe Ricky Goldsworth was a detective after all. “That’s almost offensive, but also a hundred percent correct. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky eyed him as he stumbled over his words, and then chuckled lightly, his dark eyes soft with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes.  </p><p> </p><p>“I also used to come here a lot, “ Ricky said quietly, staring pensively into the table. Tinsley tried not to think about the way Ricky gently caressed the leather beneath him. “When I worked at the precinct. It’s close, it’s chic-“</p><p> </p><p>"Your strawberry milkshake, sir, " the redhead waiter suddenly cut in, gingerly. Carefully, he placed a tall glass full of marbled pastel pink and dairy white onto the table. </p><p> </p><p>"-and it's fast service, " Ricky nodded at the waiter and finished, the corner of his peach-coloured lip tugging slightly upwards. </p><p> </p><p>"And here's your cup of green tea, sir, " the waiter said to Tinsley as he placed a simple ceramic before him. A subtle, yet fresh fragrance oozed out of the cup. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley smiled politely at the waiter. "Thank you very much. " </p><p> </p><p>"Pleasure is mine. Your food will arrive shortly. "</p><p> </p><p>The young redhead shuffled away. Tinsley turned, and found Ricky staring at him in a strange, unreadable way. </p><p> </p><p>"What? " </p><p> </p><p>"It's just- nothing, " Ricky shook his head, and poked tentatively at the creamy topping with his straw. He parted his pink lips slightly and wrapped them around the tip, closed his eyes and began to savour that sweet goodness of a milkshake. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley tried not to think of the serene smile on Ricky's angelic face, as though the rose-coloured swirls washed the boy's worries away. But then Ricky's eyes opened, and met Tinsley's gaze. A deer caught in the headlights, Tinsley could feel the heat on his ears as he cleared his throat. "Seems like you're enjoying the shake, " he stated, simply. </p><p> </p><p>"I love it. Want some? " </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. "What? "</p><p> </p><p>"The shake, " Ricky echoed, holding the tall glass out to the detective. "It's real fucking good. You should try it. " </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He what now? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There were many things Tinsley did not have in life: an extravagant family, a functional love life, the sheer audacity of Ricky Goldsworth. But boundaries weren’t one of them. Tinsley wasn't fooling himself. There was one straw in that strawberry shake. How anyone would willingly share a <em>straw, of all things</em>, with an enemy — scratch that, with anyone who wasn't their significant other, was beyond Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley wasn't an insane man. </p><p> </p><p>"No thank you, I'll pass, " he said, shaking his head. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky raised an eyebrow. "If you don't want to share it, I can buy you one. " </p><p> </p><p>"No, no, no, no need for that, " Tinsley chuckled nervously as he lifted his hands in the air. "I already have tea, remember? "</p><p> </p><p>"You'll die a tree at this rate, Tinsley. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley laughed. "I'll die on this hill if I have to. " </p><p> </p><p>There it was. That unreadable gaze again, studying Tinsley in a casual, yet intense way. Tinsley may be used to reading eyes, but sometimes, he was a human being. And in this case, being a human being entailed wondering whether Ricky Goldsworth was about to murder him, or whether he had simply said something offbeat in the conversation. </p><p> </p><p>"Anyways, " Ricky cleared his throat and said. "If we're talking casual dinner, this is one of my favourite places. The milkshake is heavenly, the club sandwich is flavour incarnate, and the pie! You've made a good choice, Tinsley, their pie is delicious! " </p><p> </p><p>Ricky did a chef's kiss that made Tinsley laugh a little on the inside. He shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>"One might even think you've glanced at the menu in advance, " Ricky continued, a small smirk on his face. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey, I ordered it because I love pie, " Tinsley grumbled. "That's all. "</p><p> </p><p>"<em>You</em> love pie, " Ricky echoed, raising an eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, " Tinsley shrugged. "What about it? "</p><p> </p><p>"Bold of you to tell <em>me</em> your food favourites, " Ricky said in a sultry voice, a dark glint in his eyes. "Aren't you afraid that I'll poison your food, Tinsley? I mean, it is fairly easy to slip in arsenic in a plate. "</p><p> </p><p>"But you just said you wouldn't poison the guy you just hired. Eating your words for dinner, Ricky? " </p><p> </p><p>"Fuck you. "</p><p> </p><p>"No thank you, " Tinsley laughed. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky rolled his eyes. "You know what, I regret bringing you here. Get this man here a pint of arsenic, " he called, lifting his index in the air in a waving motion. </p><p> </p><p>"I thought you wanted to know what happened to your mother, Ricky. What happened to the deal? "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was enjoying this way more than he should've. But Ricky's incendiary glare was a priceless sight. </p><p> </p><p>"Deal's off. I'm gonna fucking kill you. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn't feel like Ricky would <em>actually kill</em> him. </p><p> </p><p>And Ricky didn't. He couldn't, because who would even think of murder when the smoky scent of a sinfully well grilled club sandwich newly placed in front of him invaded one's senses? That's right, <em>not</em> Ricky. Ricky was busy gawking at Flavourtown, USA, his eyes lighting up like a neon bulb turned on for business. Ricky was busy travelling back in time into the candy shop his much younger self would've ran through giddily like a kid who'd just discovered cotton candy. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley couldn't blame him though. The juicy burger that now stood before him would make any man drool. Ricky picked a good place, that was all. It wasn’t as though Ricky was a man of exquisite taste or anything. </p><p> </p><p>But all of that joy paled in comparison to the sheer euphoria Tinsley felt when he dug into that Earl Grey pie. The sweetness of the cream wasn’t overbearing, but just enough to balance the savoury, flaky crust. Add the crunchiness of the slightly salted pistachios on top… Tinsley almost melted. He’d always been a sucker for pies, something deeply rooted in the fragrant slices freshly out of the oven in his childhood years. But perhaps this slice of wonder had been a balm to his economy-injured soul, one that he much welcomed with open arms. </p><p> </p><p>“Told you it’s delicious, “ Ricky mused, smirking. His voice momentarily pulled Tinsley out of his sugar-fuelled trance. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley shook his head, then shrugged. “I guess. Thank you for bringing me here. “</p><p> </p><p>“It really isn’t much, “ Ricky waved off. “I simply wanted to do something for the first guy who’s going to help me in months. “</p><p> </p><p>“That makes me sound like I’m your accomplice, which I am not. “</p><p> </p><p>“You could be, “ Ricky shrugged. He sent Tinsley a quick wink. “But no. I know Horsley pays you a lot. So I’m giving you a little something as well. “</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to. Your presence behind bars is going to be the greatest gift to the world, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, rude, “ Ricky rolled his eyes. “Sure, you can try all you want. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley studied the shorter man, who paused to take a sip of his almost finished milkshake. Ricky’s eyes showed that unreadable expression again. </p><p> </p><p>“I guess I also want to get to know you, Tinsley. I’m curious about you, “ he let out finally. “I don’t even know your first name. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was a candid man, and the way he spoke, unfiltered, rang through Tinsley’s head clear as a wind chime, and tugged at something in Tinsley’s chest. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley wasn’t an insane man. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re not friends, if that’s what you’re asking, “ he said, shaking his head. “And I thought I was clear on my name. That’s not information I give out readily. “</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, but what about your life in Schaumburg then? It’s only fair, seeing as you know way too much about me now. “ </p><p> </p><p>Ricky had a point. It was fair. Had he been in Ricky’s shoes, he definitely would’ve kept the whole detective-story-gone-awry story to himself. As he did now, with the demons that haunted his dreams, every. Damn. Night. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley wasn’t an insane man. He knew about Ricky strictly because of work. He had a case, no, two cases to crack. And knowledge of whatever “past” he had wouldn’t do Ricky any good. It wouldn’t do <em>him</em> any good. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley wasn’t an insane man, so that's why he said: “It <em>is </em>fair, Ricky. But today’s not the day. Try again some other time. “</p><p> </p><p>“But- “</p><p> </p><p>“If you’ll excuse me, I need to work on your mother’s case- “</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley- “</p><p> </p><p>“-so we all get a closure on this whole thing. Alright? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn’t know why he was in such a hurry either. It wasn’t as though he’d solve the damn case today. But his voice came out almost pleading. One might’ve thought he was running away from something. And they probably wouldn’t be wrong. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky looked at Tinsley, speechless. Then he sighed. “Fine, alright. But mark my words, I will ask some other time. Also, I need to tell you- “</p><p> </p><p>“Please tell me another time, Ricky, “ Tinsley waved dismissively. “I've got to get back to work now. Thank you for the meal. It was delicious. “</p><p> </p><p>He grabbed his coat and began to head towards the exit. He vaguely heard Ricky call him, then mutter a “well, okay”. But Tinsley felt like he was in a hurry. So he didn’t look into it further. </p><p> </p><p>On his way, he bumped into a dark-haired woman with sunglasses and a fur jacket. He apologized absently, and left as the woman raised an eyebrow. He didn’t think much of it. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Lucy Goldsworth, née Gold. 49 years old at her time of death. Experienced detective who had worked in the field since age 20. A well travelled, twice married woman, she settled down when she married Robert Goldsworth, mayor of Chicago, and began to work at the CPD as senior detective. </p><p> </p><p>On Monday, August 14th, 1950, Lucy Goldsworth left Chicago for Springfield to investigate a lead in the case she was assigned. She boarded the train at 7:50 PM, and that was the last time she’d been seen alive. The next morning, she was found in an alleyway by a couple who passed by. She had sustained a single shot wound where her lower rib met her back; the .45 caliber Colt bullet had traversed both of her lungs, hit a major artery, and exited from her clavicle. Her death was the likely result of hypovolemic shock. </p><p> </p><p>Lucy Goldsworth’s death had been investigated by the city of Springfield. It took roughly two weeks for the case to be closed and ruled a suicide. Allegedly, she had called CPD officers to join her in the investigation; however, no records of officers responding to her request ever existed, despite her relatively high ranking at the department. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley flipped through the newspaper clippings. It clearly didn’t seem like a suicide. </p><p> </p><p>One, Goldsworth had been shot on the side of her back. No matter how Tinsley looked at it, the angle would’ve been strangely awkward for a suicide. Plus, she would’ve died over several hours, which certainly wouldn’t be ideal for someone looking to end their suffering. </p><p> </p><p>And two, there was a pair of green heels on the ground, two feet away from Lucy Goldsworth’s body, in the only photograph of the crime scene ever produced. The heels were never retrieved by the investigation team. Lucy Goldsworth had been wearing black leather boots at the time of her death. And as far as the case went, there had no witness nor accomplices at the time of her death. The shoes could’ve been on site prior to the incident, but their presence in the alleyway and orientation relative to Goldsworth’s body was… suspect. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sighed and placed his magnifying glass on the desk. An image of Ricky Goldsworth, sobbing on his wooden swing at one in the morning, flashed in Tinsley’s mind. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That man was truly a loose cannon. An asshole of the highest order. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I want to get to know you, Tinsley. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yet, Ricky was a candid man. But that didn’t mean Tinsley could just <em>trust</em> him. Generally speaking, it was a bad idea to get involved emotionally in cases. Tinsley swore by that rule, and cruised through his cases that way. Even Holly agreed with that, and Ricky was the exhibit A of emotions gone awry. </p><p> </p><p>There was no way Tinsley would change that now. Not after twelve years of detective work. Tinsley was a sensible man — <em>not insane</em> — and he was going to solve the White Wolf case, as well as the White Wolf’s case. Simple as that. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley couldn’t help but wonder, if <em>Ricky would’ve never taken the treacherous path had someone taken his mother’s death seriously</em>.<em> If Ricky could stop killing, and start anew-</em></p><p> </p><p>It was the phone. Tinsley didn’t expect to receive a call, so naturally, the loud ring that blared through that cursed handle startled him. </p><p> </p><p>He picked up. </p><p> </p><p>“C.C. Tinsley, private investigator at your service, how may I help you? “</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley, it’s Holly. You need to come to the station, and quick. “</p><p> </p><p>“But I already came this morning, why do you need m- “</p><p> </p><p>“Your case, Tinsley, your leads. Come to the station, now, “ the cool female voice spoke, sternly. </p><p> </p><p>Guess he didn’t have a choice here. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“The White Wolf did what? “</p><p> </p><p>This couldn’t be. Tinsley didn’t believe it. He thought he had just disarmed the ticking time bomb. And if he solved Lucy Goldsworth’s case then <em>Ricky wouldn’t do that again. </em></p><p> </p><p>But the small-framed girl before him sobbed, and she sobbed. The scent of carnations emanated from her hand, and Tinsley felt nauseous. He wished he’d never seen the immaculate business card that rested within her palm. But it was there. And it was telling. </p><p> </p><p>“There, there, Darla, “ Banjo consoled the weeping girl. “At least you’re still here with us. “</p><p> </p><p>Darla cried even harder. But Tinsley was pretty sure Holly’s burning glare as she stared at him, arms crossed over her chest, was more terrifying at the moment. A glare that might as well interrogate Tinsley for 24 hours, asking the same looming question over and over again: <em>What did you do with Ricky Goldsworth?</em></p><p> </p><p>Tinsley lifted his hands in the air, as though to appease the clearly not amused Holly. Then he turned to Darla. “What happened exactly? “</p><p> </p><p>“I… “ the young receptionist managed between sobs. “I haven’t seen them. But I did receive this in my mailbox today. I think he’s threatening me. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly and Banjo exchanged a look. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s like number three, “ Banjo remarked. </p><p> </p><p>“Do we think this might be a repeat of number three here? “ Holly said, eyeing Tinsley intently. </p><p> </p><p>“But Darla is innocent! It can’t be! “ Banjo exclaimed, grabbing his hair in frustration. And Tinsley was sure his own mind shared the same thought. </p><p> </p><p>“Well the card is certainly the same one as the other nine, Banjo, “ Holly retorted coldly. “If possible, I would prefer our darling secretary NOT be murdered in the next three business days. “ </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could feel the inquisitive glare pointed towards him like an execution rifle. And if he could respond on the spot, he would’ve. Unfortunately, Tinsley was busy reconciling the clashing images of Ricky Goldsworth. <em>Vibrant, curious, and candid. Distant, mercurial, and merciless. </em></p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s mind raged as an explosively thunderous storm. But Tinsley’s mouth uttered a deafening silence. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It couldn’t be. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I… I also received a message. ‘See you soon, sweetie, ‘ it says, “ Darla adds, shakily as she holds out a small note. </p><p> </p><p>To the three other people in the room, it was unequivocal: this was the White Wolf’s handwriting. The same, gauche, yet somehow floral scribbles that far understated its violent intents. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled, bitterly. This was what he got for even thinking of Ricky as anything else than a serial killer. He had been a fool. </p><p> </p><p>“This is unacceptable, “ he finally muttered. “Look, I’ll drive you home, Darla. It is too dangerous for you to be roaming out tonight. And if anything happens, you can ring up any of us three, okay? Better safe than sorry. “</p><p> </p><p>“And what about the White Wolf, Tinsley? “ Holly asked icily. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m on it as soon as I drop Darla off. You have my word, Holly. I’m not letting him get away with this. “ </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley motioned Darla to follow him while Holly still eyed him, arms crossed. He didn’t blame Holly though. This was his responsibility. He didn’t do his job right, and now Darla was in danger. The young girl was hugging her bag tightly in his backseat, fiddling with the strings around the fabric, her auburn hair drooping before her eyes as though she tried to hide herself. Darla’s nervous reflection on the rearview mirror made Tinsley’s blood boil. </p><p> </p><p>Darla did nothing wrong. <em>Darla did nothing wrong. </em></p><p> </p><p>A kind, soft-spoken girl who offered him carnations once, because they were pretty. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Darla did nothing wrong. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A warm and welcoming receptionist, who made sure to greet and guide him in Holly’s absence. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Darla did nothing wrong. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A nervous young girl, who clutched at her bag as much as she feared for her life. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Darla did nothing wrong. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley promptly dropped Darla off at her residence — a simple, yet elegant apartment complex around the block. She thanked him meekly, and went on her merry way. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley waved gently, then glanced at his watch. Eleven o’clock. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley started the engine again. He could’ve sworn he fumed just as much as his car rumbled. </p><p> </p><p>At eleven o’clock in the night, Tinsley drove in a very familiar direction. </p><p> </p><p>Goldsworth residence. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i feel like me saying i don't have a fetish for cars at this point would give off the same vibe as ryan saying "i don't have a fetish for nipples"<br/>i've entertained this thought while writing this so you must suffer too</p><p>thank you so much for the warm comments on last chapter!! it's really motivating me to write more honestly ;_;<br/>although, bad news is that life has been pretty hectic on me lately and i fell a bit behind schedule; i might have to cancel thursday's chapter, but who knows? maybe i can catch up before then. either way i will keep you updated in the comments in this chapter!<br/>once again, thank you for reading &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Strange Man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C.C. Tinsley was a strange man. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"You'll die a tree at this rate, Tinsley. "</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"I'll die on this hill if I have to. " </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s pale face bloomed into a brightly shining smile, the cusps of his cheeks teasing his soft brown eyes with light crinkles at the corners. It had been a rare moment of visible amusement, for a detective who appeared nothing short of chronically exhausted. Ricky had seen that kind of smile in Tinsley exactly twice, and every time he did, he felt like the detective had desecrated Lucy’s grave. </p><p> </p><p>It happened a third time, when Tinsley dug into that pie he had ordered at the diner. Ricky was positive he’d seen Tinsley’s soul exit its mortal vessel in that moment. Tinsley always looked downwards, a habit that Ricky had chalked up to Tinsley being a walking lamp post. But when Tinsley gently bit into that soft, creamy filling, his eyes looked to the ceiling as though he had seen a saint. Sure, SUNSET’s Earl Grey pie was delicious, but it wasn’t as though the dessert deserved holy reverence. Tinsley may not have voiced out his utter joy, but Ricky could tell. <em>He loves pie. He really loves pie.</em> Tinsley had shrugged it off with a nonchalant <em>I guess</em>, but that barely stifled smile screamed anything but <em>I guess. </em></p><p> </p><p>But that wasn’t all. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley thanked the waiter, and apologized to Fran when he bumped into her. That in itself wouldn’t be cause for concern; Ricky was a civilized man, after all. But the way Tinsley carried himself was… intriguing. The light, timid nods that silently asked for permission. The delicate turning of his wrists as he gently adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. The subtle nape-of-the-neck scratches as Tinsley’s thin, long fingers found their seemingly familiar way to those unruly brown curls, carding through them as they nestled right beneath Tinsley’s mussed hair for comfort. The slight slouching as Tinsley dug into his coat pockets with steady hands, as though he had desperately desired a subtler stature. The soft stubbles peppering the lower half of Tinsley’s pale, tired face. Nothing in the way Tinsley carried himself suggested the man to be capable of violence. This was a gentle man whose aura brimmed with concern for those around him. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh, but the amount of shit this man says. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was… Well. He’d initially hated it, and part of him still did. He couldn’t deny it; Tinsley’s aura resembled that of Lucy, in an uncanny way. The sleepy-eyed smile that hinted at a world of compassion. The way he cuddled his cat tenderly, as though he’d been nursing his own child. The way his cat had been better groomed than his own messy hair. Ricky recalled Lucy’s selfless dedication to him. The crime cases she read him as she cuddled his six-year-old self to sleep; dark, weary circles dragged her droopy eyes as she kept smiling at him in the face of long nights of research. The way she’d turn down national cases and out-of-state jobs to stay by his side. The subtle ways she had with people; he still couldn’t find out how she’d convinced them to stop talking about him. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was a mirror image of Lucy’s kindness, mixed in with a certain air of melancholy. And Ricky hated even thinking that this tall idiot might be a <em>decent fucking human being. </em></p><p> </p><p>But Fran was right, and he was strong enough to admit that he was… curious. It wasn’t wrong to try to get to know C.C. Tinsley. Not that he’d <em>actually</em> found out anything about the private eye — Tinsley had been stubbornly reserved in their conversations at the precinct, after all — but the intent was still there. Part of it was self-preservation: Ricky had many plans in life, and jail was certainly not one of them. Another part of it was collaboration; Tinsley did offer to investigate Lucy, after all. As much as Ricky hated the thought of Tinsley even being remotely close to his momma, he wasn’t stupid. C.C. Tinsley was a diamond in the rough in the field of crime, but a bloody diamond nonetheless. He wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity of Sharp Eye helping him out, especially if the man himself offered it in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>Naturally then, Ricky had the right to be curious about C.C. Tinsley. He’d been curious about many people in the past. This was no different. Might as well get to know the guy while they figure out his momma’s death. </p><p> </p><p>Now, if only C.C. Tinsley would cooperate. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had left in such a hurry, before Ricky could even share what he knew. Ricky figured Tinsley would appreciate some background information on the case he’d just accepted. But perhaps Ricky had pried too much into the man’s background. <em>That’s on me</em>, Ricky admitted. That’s right. Not everyone lived as an open book, and if there were such people, Ricky was certain Tinsley wasn’t one of them. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky leaned into his leather chair, and glanced at his library shelf. He sighed. <em>It’s okay, he’s bound to change his mind eventually. What Ricky Goldsworth wants, Ricky Goldsworth gets. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Sir, you can’t go in right now, sir- “</p><p> </p><p>“No, I insist! I need to speak to him! “ </p><p> </p><p>A loud and indignant male voice. One that Ricky’d also known to be soft and gentle. There was no in-between. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky raised an eyebrow as his door flung open. In stumbled C.C. Tinsley, his finger pointing at Ricky in an accusatory way, his arm restrained more or less successfully by a very embarrassed Rose. </p><p> </p><p>“You! “ Tinsley growled, his face contorted into an angry frown. </p><p> </p><p>“Sir, it is almost midnight, you cannot come in right now, “ Rose pleaded as she tugged helplessly onto the detective’s khaki sleeve. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky eyed the two of them with a curious glance. </p><p> </p><p>Why was the detective in his house at midnight? Ricky did not know. This wasn’t the first time Tinsley had barged in on him. Often theatrical, but never this belligerent. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was a strange man. Soft and tender at times, and completely unhinged at others. Ricky couldn’t get a read on this guy. He almost wondered if Tinsley would’ve made a better serial killer than him. </p><p> </p><p>Well, he did have unfinished business with Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>“Let him in, Rose. I’ll speak with him privately, “ Ricky said calmly. </p><p> </p><p>Rose’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest. But she knew better than to defy Ricky. “Yes, Mr. Goldsworth, “ she quickly obliged, and retreated from the office. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky sighed and leant back, his arms folded behind his head. “You know, if you’re going to visit me so often at night time, “ he cooed playfully, smirking at Tinsley. “One might think you’re <em>enamoured</em> with me, detective. “</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, you dickhead, “ Tinsley growled. “What the hell was all of that about?! “</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean, all of that? “</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>know</em> exactly what I’m talking about. Quit pretending, Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>“As a matter of fact, I do not, “ Ricky retorted, shrugging casually. “Mind enlightening me with what keeps you up at night, detective? It seems like it’s cause for serious concern, if you’re visiting me this late again, “ he chuckled. </p><p> </p><p>“You- “ Tinsley began, then stopped himself mid-sentence. Ricky saw the tall detective’s fists balling up at his sides. Tinsley let out an audible, frustrated sigh. “Darla. The secretary at the precinct. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, so you know already! “ Ricky exclaimed, smiling. “I didn’t even tell you. Can’t say you’re not living up to your moniker, Tinsley. I have to admit, I’m impressed- “</p><p> </p><p>“You THREATENED her! “ Tinsley snapped. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky blinked. “Yeah? And your point is? “</p><p> </p><p>“I THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T TARGET INNOCENTS? “ </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh, no. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Ricky could see clearly through Tinsley’s wrath. <em>He doesn’t know.</em> Admittedly, it was on Ricky. Maybe stopping the detective from leaving that diner would’ve been a better move. He was going to explain the whole situation to the detective at lunch. But Tinsley left in a hurry, and he couldn’t get the words out in time. Misunderstandings ensued. And now Tinsley was positively fuming. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky was used to being the boiling kettle. He wasn’t used to being the naked hand having to handle the scalding hot pot. But all wasn't lost yet. All he had to do was to clarify the misunderstanding, and all would be well. </p><p> </p><p>“Listen, Tinsley- “</p><p> </p><p>“You sent her a <em>death threat</em>, Goldsworth. You fucking threatened to <em>kill</em> her. What did she ever do to you? I thought you wanted to find who killed your mother? “ </p><p> </p><p>“I do, but- “</p><p> </p><p>“NO BUTS! “ Tinsley interrupted. “Now I can see through your little game. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky exhaled. Maybe it wasn’t as simple as that. </p><p> </p><p>“Let me explain- “</p><p> </p><p>“Answer me honestly, Goldsworth. That week when Holly was away, you didn’t visit me just to chat me up. You were here to stalk Darla. Correct? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened. <em>How did he even find out?</em> He thought he’d been subtle enough, going to the restrooms at strategic hours, and leaving the precinct when the unsuspecting girl ended her shift. It was innocuous enough. </p><p> </p><p>But Ricky really shouldn’t be surprised. C.C. Tinsley was the Sharp Eye, and hardly anything escaped the Sharp Eye’s insight. Adriana Evans could attest to that; Ricky himself could’ve done with more time before Tinsley zeroed in on his cologne. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky cleared his throat. “Well, I wouldn’t consider that ‘stalking’- “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not denying it. You were at the police station to watch Darla. Your conversations with me were a mere diversion, “ Tinsley accused. His voice was shaky, and Ricky swore it was on the verge of breaking. “Tell me I’m wrong, Ricky, “ Tinsley croaked out, weakly. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t find the strength in him to do so, because Tinsley wasn't wrong. Tinsley hit bullseye, and Ricky couldn't bring himself to lie. He did visit the police station every day to spy on Darla; Tinsley was simply a by-product of his plans. Ricky couldn’t lie about that; he owed Tinsley at least that much. He was bound to tell him about Darla anyways. But he also knew the pause was making things look significantly worse for him. And he could see Tinsley’s frantic eyes scanning him for any, <em>any</em> signs that would reassure him. Alas, Ricky's words remained trapped in his throat, and the desperate hope that clutched onto Tinsley's troubled frown vanished as swiftly as it came. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley closed his eyes in a deep frown, and shook his head. “Unbelievable. “</p><p> </p><p>“No, Tinsley, “ Ricky pleaded. He stood up and reached for the detective. “Listen to me please, this is all a misun- “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t need to hear any more of your lies, Ricky Goldsworth, “ Tinsley spat bitterly. “To think I even thought of you as a decent person… I was delusional. You are nothing more than a murderer, and I hope you feel sorry for using your mother’s oh-so-tragic sob story to manipulate people. “ </p><p> </p><p>Ricky winced as he felt sharp pangs in his chest. “You son of a bitc- that’s not true! How dare you even think of that? You <em>know</em> how much she means to me, Tinsley! You can call me a murderer but I would never do <em>that</em>! “ </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you <em>would</em> do that, Goldsworth, “ Tinsley snarled lowly. “Do not ever show up in my face again. I don’t want to see you. You’re an unscrupulous man who only cares about his own well-being, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I find out you killed your own mother. “</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t kill her, what the fuck are you talking about- No, Tinsley, wait! “ </p><p> </p><p>Ricky called to Tinsley, but the tall detective had already stormed off. Ricky ran to the doorframe, only to find Francesca Norris, veiled in a sheer black net dress, holding a box of butter cookies in her arms. Ricky froze at the unexpected sight, and Fran stared at him. She quirked an eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>“… Care to explain just <em>what</em> happened in here, Ricky? “</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry not sorry</p><p>thank you so much for your kind patience last week &lt;3 i also almost lost my backup chapters this weekend. i was sulking in the bitter taste of devastation until i realized i had them in the cloud. some dumbasses am i right? yes. it's me. i'm dumbasses.<br/>schedule resumed as normal so see you on thurs! and as always, kudos and comments very appreciated :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Serial Killer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I saw you with Ceece earlier. “</p><p> </p><p>“I know. “</p><p> </p><p>“And he just came out of your office. “</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s <em>midnight</em>, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>“I know, “ Ricky sighed. He closed his eyes in a frown and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Fran, it’s not what you think- “</p><p> </p><p>“Well then spill it out, “ Francesca cut in. She dropped the tin box onto Ricky’s desk, and plopped down Ricky’s chair. “Or I’m going to think however I like. Cookies? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky managed a small smile as he shook his head at the offer. </p><p> </p><p>“I may or may not have hired him. “</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>what</em>? “</p><p> </p><p>Thank God Francesca didn’t have a drink at the moment. If she did, she would’ve spit it out. Instead, she stared at Ricky, eyes wide like dinner plates. </p><p> </p><p>”I hired C.C. Tinsley, “ Ricky repeated. “To investigate Lucy. “</p><p> </p><p>“But isn’t he supposed to- “</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>know</em>, Fran, “ Ricky let out a frustrated sigh. “He’s still trying to catch me, I know. But <em>he</em>'<em>s </em> offered to look into it, okay? “</p><p> </p><p>“Let me guess. He found out about Lucy, and took pity in you. “ </p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, Fran, you can’t say that, “ Ricky groaned as his friend laughed. “What makes you think I didn’t tell him myself? “</p><p> </p><p>“What makes you think you’d tell him yourself? “ Francesca shrugged. She grabbed a cookie. “I know you, Ricky. You’re not stupid. You wouldn’t tell that to a guy who’s out there to catch you. “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right, “ Ricky muttered. “But still! He’s not pitying me, I’m sure of it. “</p><p> </p><p>“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie, “ Francesca chuckled. She leaned back into the chair. </p><p> </p><p>“Fran! “</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, okay, I’ll stop, “ Francesca lifted her hands defensively. She was still holding half of the cookie. “But do go on. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky grumbled. Then he continued. “Horsley told him about Lucy. He offered me his services in solving her case. Says he wants to give me closure. “</p><p> </p><p>He approached the tin box absently, and picked out a butter cookie. </p><p> </p><p>“I invited him out today, because hiring him for free doesn’t sit right with me. Especially knowing how much Horsley must be paying him for him to be <em>not in Schaumburg</em>, “ Ricky said. Francesca snorted, and he shot her a lighthearted glare. “I was going to tell him about Darla — you know, the police secretary. But curiosity got the better of me, and I asked him some questions about his past. He got uncomfortable, so he left. I wasn’t able to tell him about Darla. “</p><p> </p><p>Francesca quirked an eyebrow. “Well, <em>that</em> sure is an interesting development. “</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you know. You, asking him questions. But I’m happy to hear it. Go on, “ Francesca pressed on. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky looked down at his cookie. “I think he found out about Darla on his own today. He came to some <em>very wrong</em> conclusions, called me an unscrupulous man, and left. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Francesca finished her bite. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s it? “ she finally asked. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? That’s a lot! He thinks I’m a feckless murderer! “</p><p> </p><p>“Right, okay, “ Fran chuckled. “Let me summarize this for you. You <em>befriended</em> him- “</p><p> </p><p>“No I did not- “</p><p> </p><p>“-yes you did, then you bought him dinner- “</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Fran, you can’t phrase it that way- “</p><p> </p><p>“-couldn’t get the facts out, “ Fran spoke over Ricky, raising her index finger in the air and barely suppressing her laughter. “So now not only he might <em>not</em> help you out, he’ll double down on tailing you until you walk yourself into jail. “</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yes but he’s not my friend- “ Ricky protested. Francesca immediately brought her index to his face, tutting as she silenced his fading whines. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not a bad thing, Ricky, “ she said, soothingly. “I’m just surprised that you’d even think of buying him dinner- “</p><p> </p><p>“Lunch, “ Ricky corrected pointedly. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, lunch, “ Fran laughed. She was having way too much fun with Ricky and his rolled eyes. “Point is, I didn’t expect that. I recall you were all over the Murder That Damn Detective campaign, not too long ago. “</p><p> </p><p>“I was. “</p><p> </p><p>“So what changed? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky looked down into his hands. The butter cookie remained untouched, save for the brittle edges that were beginning to sand off from his fingers. He tentatively bit into the mildly sweet, slightly salted cookie. </p><p> </p><p>What changed? It had seemed pretty obvious to Ricky at first. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was… Well. C.C. Tinsley nearly committed vehicular manslaughter on their first meeting, slandered his dear mother, threatened his very reason to move forward, among other infuriating occurrences that <em>should</em> be illegal, but weren’t. Tinsley had the worst possible sense of fashion, treated his own hair like a doormat, and probably ran on three hours of sleep on lucky days — the fact that this man preferred tea over coffee still baffled Ricky to this day. Without a shadow of a doubt, C.C. Tinsley was the most insufferable pain in the ass Ricky’d ever had the misfortune of encountering, and he should’ve just made short work of him early on, before it devolved into… this. </p><p> </p><p>It all really went downhill the moment Ricky saw Tinsley cradle that stupid cat. On hindsight, he shouldn’t have followed the detective home, and ten years from now, Ricky would probably look back at this event as the initial regret of many more to come. And it was stupid, because no one should be this distressed over an adult male holding a cat, but Ricky was, and Ricky had hated it. That soft-eyed look reminded him of Lucy’s tender gaze, and nothing else. </p><p> </p><p>As though that hadn’t been enough, the stupid detective had to go and comment on his career choices, just to really screw that proverbial nail in the coffin. It wasn’t so much the berating that irked Ricky; he’d expected that much from a pretentiously righteous man like Tinsley. But <em>man</em>, did that conversation ruffle his feathers. For a man who spewed so much <em>garbage</em> on Lucy, Tinsley really sounded like the woman herself when he wasn’t insulting her. If that didn’t upset Ricky, he didn’t know what would. But Fran told him he should get to know his enemy better; Ricky did so, because meeting Tinsley was convenient for business, but also because Fran was the more sensible one of the two of them, as much as it pained him to admit it. </p><p> </p><p>And then, Horsley had to run her mouth around and tell the stupid detective about everything. Ricky fully expected some polite platitudes from that giant forehead, or some more berating over their earlier argument, or an excruciating three-hour lecture on Why You Shouldn't Murder People. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley didn’t do any of that. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley didn’t judge him. He didn’t tell him how to live after her death. He didn’t even tell him off for doing the things he did. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley just… fucking listened. <em>Like a decent fucking human being</em>. It was the first time Ricky had experienced real fear in the detective’s presence. It was one thing to have manners that resembled the kindest person Ricky knew. It was a whole other thing to <em>actually behave like a kindhearted person</em>. It meant that Tinsley wasn’t simply upsetting on a surface level, and, as much as Ricky would like to, he couldn’t just kill a goody two-shoes for the sake of convenience. While it frustrated Ricky to no end, he couldn’t help but also feel intrigued by C.C. Tinsley: he really didn’t have anything to back it up, but he was dead certain Tinsley genuinely <em>understood</em> him, on that breezy night of spring. He couldn’t say many people did that. </p><p> </p><p>It was logically idiotic and statistically suicidal to turn down Tinsley’s offer. But C.C. Tinsley’s stellar record aside, Ricky had a firm hunch the detective was <em>full of intention</em> when he said, “I think I can at least afford you closure. “ </p><p> </p><p>Again, there was no proof of it. Ricky could very well be walking into a trap, and willingly so. All Ricky had to explain his feeling were those stupidly soft brown eyes crinkling when C.C. Tinsley smiled until darkness was no more. Oh, and also the insufferable kindness that emanated from Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p><em>The kind that would definitely get a man killed</em>. Ricky thought of Lucy, and his blood ran cold. </p><p> </p><p>Point was, Ricky couldn’t refuse Tinsley’s offer. And he was strong enough to admit, he did want to know more about C.C. Tinsley. They weren’t <em>friends</em>, but Ricky was comfortable conversing with the private eye. And working with him towards Lucy’s case. And inviting him to lunch.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello? Earth to Ricky? “</p><p> </p><p>Oh God, maybe they <em>were</em> friends. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, I <em>know</em> the cookie is delicious, but you’ve been staring at it for a while now, and I’m starting to worry about you, “ Fran’s silvery voice chimed through Ricky’s ears. Startled, he blinked a few times, before turning his gaze to Fran. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>, Fran, I think we might be friends, “ he croaked out. </p><p> </p><p>Francesca quirked an eyebrow. “Um, I thought that was obvious? A natural, predictable outcome of knowing a person for twenty years? “</p><p> </p><p>“Not you, stupid, “ Ricky interrupted. He facepalmed. “Of course we’re friends. I’m talking about Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. “</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean, ‘oh’?? “</p><p> </p><p>Fran chuckled lightly. She shrugged. “Well, if we ignore the fact that you’ve probably just had an epiphany over a butter cookie here, I think you might be headed in the right direction, Ricky. I’m not exactly sure what changed between you and the Sharp Eye, but I’m not complaining. Considering his track record and your <em>God awful skills</em> at concealing your work- “</p><p> </p><p>“My skills are fine, thank you very much- “</p><p> </p><p>“-no they are not, I keep cleaning up after your mess, “ Fran interrupted, her index finger still in the air. “I think you’re better off having him as an ally than as an enemy. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky sighed. “I know it’s strategic, Fran. But now he’s got the wrong idea. How am I supposed to get him onboard if he’s hopping off the deck like a madman? “</p><p> </p><p>Francesca crossed her arms and pinched the bridge of her nose. God, she cared about Ricky, but sometimes, caring about Ricky involved the somewhat menial task of babying an idiot. </p><p> </p><p>“You talk to him. Simple as that. “</p><p> </p><p>“Fran! “ Ricky whined. </p><p> </p><p>“You know I’m right. Miscommunication is the mother of broken partnerships, and the longer you let it sit, the worse it gets. Go explain the whole situation to him. Do it, before your dear friend dies of exasperation, “ Fran said dramatically, and brought her hand to her forehead in a theatrical fashion. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s one in the morning, Fran. “</p><p> </p><p>“So what? That’s nothing new for you. “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know where the hell he fucked off to. “</p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em>that</em>’s a problem I can solve, “ Fran said, winking at him. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky couldn’t suppress the light chuckle that came out. Fran did have her mysterious ways. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, if you insist, “ he said, shoving the last piece of his cookie into his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck Ricky Goldsworth. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s fists remained clenched within his pockets as he walked aimlessly in the deserted field. The pale crescent moon shone as a silvery claw against the perfectly still mirror that was XX Lake. The same lake Tinsley had visited with Ricky a few days prior. </p><p> </p><p>It all seemed like a farce, now that Tinsley thought of it. A novice mistake, if you will. Tinsley blamed himself for being so easily duped by a man so dangerous and unscrupulous. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky <em>was</em> a candid man, according to Holly. But Holly was also on the receiving end of an abrupt resignation letter, nine mutilated bodies, and a swarm of angry journalists that might as well have been circus acts at this point. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Holly must’ve felt so betrayed. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And so did Tinsley. Granted, Ricky Goldsworth <em>did</em> go through the unfortunate death of his mother, and he <em>did</em> seem to have a soft penchant for men — something Tinsley couldn’t say for many other men he’s encountered. But Ricky Goldsworth <em>was</em>, first and foremost, a <em>serial killer</em>. Because of this, everything that followed must be taken with a heavy grain of salt. It was standard procedure in Tinsley’s work. Tinsley didn’t follow it this time, and now Darla was in danger. <em>Serves me right for deviating from protocol. </em></p><p> </p><p>Now that he thought of it, Tinsley really should’ve told Ricky Goldsworth off, that night on the swings. Ricky’s story <em>was</em> tragic, but it didn’t warrant <em>taking the worst career path possible</em>. Tinsley could think of several people who wouldn’t have committed <em>murder</em> in Ricky’s situation, and that list included Tinsley himself. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley was stupid, and he believed Ricky. He believed Ricky could be <em>a decent person</em>. He believed Ricky would understand him, in a twisted way. <em>Oh</em>, how he wished the first man <em>of his kind</em> wouldn’t be a bloody psychopath. </p><p> </p><p>To add insult to injury, Ricky Goldsworth <em>used</em> him. He wasn’t even coming to the precinct for <em>him</em>. Their seemingly innocuous conversations were nothing more than a cog in the grand scheming clock of Ricky Goldsworth. Ricky did all <em>that</em> to spy on Darla. To <em>kill</em> Darla. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley felt sick in the stomach. </p><p> </p><p>A shuffling of footsteps. Tinsley remained perfectly still. </p><p> </p><p>A beat of nothingness. The gentle, cool wind of spring ruffled Tinsley’s hair. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley heard someone clear their throat. </p><p> </p><p>“I think I first owe you an apology. “</p><p> </p><p>The voice spoke slowly, hesitantly. It was the same sickeningly sweet voice Tinsley had come to recognize. <em>Ricky Goldsworth’s</em> voice. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley let out a long sigh. “I don’t think that will be necess- “</p><p> </p><p>“I have dirt on Darla, “ Ricky blurted out, barely letting Tinsley finish his sentence. “I wanted to tell you this during lunch, but you left so quickly and I couldn’t say it. I’m… sorry for the misunderstanding. “</p><p> </p><p>Such a seemingly genuine apology. But Ricky Goldsworth was first and foremost a serial killer, and everything that followed must thus be taken with a heavy grain of salt. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s blood was boiling. He dug his nails into the untouched flesh of his palm. <em>Darla, a criminal?</em> He was tired of trusting this deceitful man. So he scoffed. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>What else</em>, Ricky? You’re going to tell me you’re the president of the United States? “ he spat, bitterly. </p><p> </p><p>“No… I’m just the mayor’s son. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but of course, “ Tinsley laughed mockingly. “The mayor’s son, that’s rich of you- “</p><p> </p><p>“Hear me out, okay? “ Ricky snapped. Tinsley’s eyes widened. “For fuck’s sake, Tinsley, aren’t you a detective? I’m presenting you with evidence here. You know, I used to be a detective too! I do my research before acting out, and- hey, are you even listening? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was, in fact, no longer listening. He didn’t even bother turning to face Ricky Goldsworth. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky let out a frustrated sigh. “Come on, Tinsley! Are you really going to throw away eviden- “</p><p> </p><p>“I will, “ Tinsley interrupted pointedly. “Nothing that comes out of your filthy mouth is reliable evidence, Ricky. I don’t need second-hand information from an unscrupulous serial killer. “</p><p> </p><p>“You- “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky stopped mid-sentence. Tinsley could hear the kicking of pebbles on the cold, hard ground. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine, you know what? Fuck you, “ Ricky spat. </p><p> </p><p>Before Tinsley could utter a word, he heard loud footsteps stomping into the distance, lighter, and lighter, until he couldn’t hear anything anymore. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Hesitation Tango</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw internalized homophobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He hadn’t heard from Ricky since that night. </p><p> </p><p>Lucy Goldsworth’s case file sat idle on his desk, collecting the dust of time as a few rays of sunlight shone sparsely in his office. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t say the White Wolf folder fared any better. </p><p> </p><p>In fact, Tinsley hadn’t been to his office in days. He could work more and get Ricky Goldsworth quickly incarcerated… in theory. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley was exhausted. It felt as though he’d witnessed war crimes. Every fibre of his being regretted meddling with Ricky Goldsworth, and with reason. The sight of a frightened Darla in his rearview mirror, juxtaposed with Ricky’s utterly carefree demeanour in his office, still haunted Tinsley’s dreams. </p><p> </p><p>People tend to lie about their intentions; Ricky Goldsworth was no exception. Ricky Goldsworth would kill a man for a lollipop. </p><p> </p><p>To think that Tinsley even believed Ricky Goldsworth was <em>a decent person</em> was risible. Tinsley now called those beliefs delusions of mutual understanding, fuelled by a couple of poorly thought out decisions. He should’ve never thought of Ricky Goldsworth as anything other than a murderer. He despised himself for being <em>the same kind</em> as Ricky Goldsworth. <em>The kind</em> that brought about nothing but trouble. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be. </p><p> </p><p>So Tinsley shoved away everything he knew about Ricky Goldsworth: Ricky’s sultry voice, Ricky’s mystery dark eyes, Ricky’s melodramatic temerity, Ricky’s illusory candour, all of it. Gone were the delusions of understanding; he didn’t need anyone to understand <em>his kind</em>. He himself didn’t want to understand <em>that part of him</em> that separated him from a normal, happy life. He didn’t want to think about any of that. He knew that he’d come back to the case eventually; after all, Holly <em>did</em> hire him for it, and he wasn’t about to let such a dangerous criminal roam around town for much longer. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley needed a break. </p><p> </p><p>“Good morning, detective. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley turned around. There, amidst the faint rays of morning sun and the busy rush hour passerbys, stood a familiar figure with neatly combed hair, a trimmed beard, and a few white strands of wisdom peppered throughout. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley nodded gently. “Doctor Fear. “</p><p> </p><p>“Pleased to see you on this bright day, detective, “ the elder doctor greeted with grace. “Off to work? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled lightly, and shook his head. “Not really. Guess I’m taking a break of sorts. “</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Fear hummed. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s just… I’ve seen a few upsetting things recently in my work, “ Tinsley added after a few seconds, not knowing why he felt the need to explain himself. “I think I need to take a breather. “</p><p> </p><p>“That is certainly understandable, detective, “ Dr. Fear replied. “I think you might agree with me on this, but both our fields bear quite the potential for grievous emotional exhaustion. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced at the veteran physician. Light wrinkles lined the corners of the man’s hickory eyes. Dr. Fear was smiling warmly, yet his eyes told the story of a man who’d seen unspeakable things. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley cleared his throat, and stared at his feet. “You must’ve gone through a lot, doctor. I don’t think I could ever compare to your vast experience. “</p><p> </p><p>The doctor chuckled. “I don’t think it’s a matter of comparison here. Whatever I’ve gone through does not negate your experience. Whatever you’ve seen lately must’ve upset you a lot, detective; otherwise, you would not have taken a break. You are the best judge of your limits, and if you deem a break necessary, then a break <em>is</em> necessary. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley lifted his head. </p><p> </p><p>“Although, “ Dr. Fear added tentatively, glancing at Tinsley. “If you do need someone to talk to about recent events, I am willing to lend you a listening ear. I know our last encounter might’ve… upset you, so do take it at your own pace. I do not want to make you uncomfortable, detective. “</p><p> </p><p>Come to think of it… Tinsley hadn’t told anybody about it yet. Holly was understandably furious over the whole Darla situation. He’d told Ricky off, and he wasn’t going to rant to the person he’d rant about. It wasn’t as though Tinsley had any <em>friends</em> in this town. </p><p> </p><p>So Tinsley said, “Sure, um… Let’s talk. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Dr. Fear’s careful expression melted into a warm smile. </p><p> </p><p>“I think this conversation is most suitable over a cup of coffee. What do you think, detective? “</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Dr. Fear hummed as he brought the warm ceramic mug to his lips, and sipped the aromatic coffee. Tinsley glanced at his own cup, his troubled reflection muddled by scattered tea leaves. He fiddled nervously with the cup handle. </p><p> </p><p>Dr. Fear cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>"So, " he began, carefully. "You've met a suspect of yours. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley nodded in silent affirmation. </p><p> </p><p>"And you sympathized with their story, so you offered your help, " Dr. Fear continued, his tone unwavering. "Only you found out they were planning to murder someone from the CPD. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley nodded again, shivering. The mere thought of Ricky Goldsworth's deceitful schemes made him clench his fist around the smooth ceramic handle. </p><p> </p><p>Dr. Fear hummed again. </p><p> </p><p>"You must've felt betrayed, detective. "</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. " </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley tried to keep his voice from breaking. "And stupid, " he added. "It is such a novice mistake. "</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Dr. Fear gazed pensively into the distance. </p><p> </p><p>Then he spoke, quietly. </p><p> </p><p>"Five years ago, I had a young patient. He had a rare disease that affected only 0.03% of the population in the whole country. Age of onset is typically 47; he was only six when he came under my care. Needless to say, he was the only paediatric case in the country, and since there wasn't enough research specifically aimed at his population, he was assigned to my team, who had more experience with the disease than the paediatric care unit. He was always accompanied by his worrying mother. Lovely lady, mind you; she was an excellent mother who'd make sure I gave her all of the information necessary for her beloved son's treatment plan. She'd bring lunchboxes for him when he was hospitalized for acute treatment, something that seldom happened on our ward. There was his father too, an honest man whom I'm sure loved his son dearly. However, I didn't see him around as much, due to the fact that he had been working overtime to pay for his son's medical bills. Although I'd never seen all three of them together, I could confidently say they were a happy family. The parents worked day and night to support their son, and their son was a beaming ray of sunshine who dreamed of being a firefighter one day. His cheerful laughter would ring in the corridors of my ward and bring a smile to the nurses' faces. "</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Fear paused, then took a deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>"It was a sunny morning of spring, I recall, " he continued. "Just like today. My patient has been on treatment for three months, yet he'd been getting progressively worse. I had initially attributed it to the poor prognosis of the disease, but the rapidity of his decline was something I shouldn't have overlooked. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley raised an eyebrow. But Dr. Fear pressed on.</p><p> </p><p>"That morning, my patient went under cardiovascular arrest. A heart attack, if you will. I rushed to his room with the nurses in an attempt to resuscitate him, but he was already gone. As cardiovascular arrest is a possible complication of the disease, we hadn't thought much of it. We assumed we'd lost the fight against the disease itself. Since he was the only paediatric case, the hospital conducted an autopsy on him. When the results came out, I wished I'd never overlooked the blaring signs. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced at Dr. Fear; the latter appeared crestfallen. </p><p> </p><p>"The autopsy revealed the cause of death not to be organic cardiovascular arrest, but rather secondary ventricular tachycardia. It turns out that my patient had been <em>poisoned</em>, and further investigation led us to finding out an unlikely culprit. It was his mother, who had been slipping digoxin in the child's food to spite her husband. She had wanted to kill her own son as a revenge for her husband's lack of presence within the family. "</p><p> </p><p>"Wait, isn’t that… "</p><p> </p><p>"The case of John Doe v. Jane Doe, yes, " Dr. Fear replied with a sad, knowing smile. </p><p> </p><p>"You were the doctor in charge? "</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Fear nodded. "I'm not one to divulge my patients' personal data, detective, but with their identities anonymized by court, I can afford to tell you their story without compromising their confidentiality. "</p><p> </p><p>It was indeed a safe choice. John Doe v. Jane Doe had been a national scandal to such an extent that even lay men knew vaguely about the case, although only the parties involved knew each other's identities. C.C. Tinsley didn't know the full details of what happened, but he did remember the massive backlash against the medical team at the time. Their identities, along with the involved parties', had been anonymized for their safety. But never did Tinsley expect to be standing before the physician who infamously treated the son of John Doe. </p><p> </p><p>"The point is, no matter what the media said about my patient or my team, I was devastated, " Dr. Fear continued gravely. "I had genuinely cared about the child, and I was hoping he'd get better with my care. Of course, I knew the odds were stacked against him, but I figured he was at least in good hands, judging from his mother's apparent zeal over his health and well-being. I had foolishly trusted the mother, enabled her schemes, and was unable to report her to authorities before it was too late. Keep in mind, I wasn't at the beginning of my career. This was stuff I should've been able to notice, yet didn't; a novice mistake, if you will. But I couldn’t blame the entire debacle on myself, because I did do the best I could to save that child. When it comes to human emotions, no amount of experience will make you immune to this kind of mishap, detective. It can and will happen, and it isn’t your fault. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is it not my fault?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley gazed at the expanding leaves, anemones dancing in the ebb and flow of the lukewarm water of his cup. </p><p> </p><p>He wanted to believe that it wasn’t. But how could it not be? <em>He</em> had willingly fallen into Ricky Goldsworth's cunning schemes, <em>he</em> had first extended the proverbial olive branch to a serial killer for the sake of closure, <em>he</em> had foolishly believed that Ricky Goldsworth could understand him. </p><p> </p><p>But perhaps the seasoned physician’s words held some truth. Ricky Goldsworth's character was by no means his personal business, and it shouldn't be. His job was to catch the murderer, and go back to Schaumburg. Tinsley was a professional, and mishaps were inevitable. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t help but still feel a dull emptiness taking over in the pit of his stomach. What happened with Ricky Goldsworth was reasonably inevitable, yet it still invoked a looming sense of unease in Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley wasn’t an insane man. So Tinsley elected to ignore it. </p><p> </p><p>He shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>“I guess you’re right, doctor. Thank… you, for your kind wisdom. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s nothing really, “ Dr. Fear waved dismissively. He offered Tinsley a warm, knowing smile. “I simply hope my story helped bring some insight into your situation. If there’s anything, please, do not hesitate. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>He <em>did</em> hesitate. </p><p> </p><p>He <em>did</em> hesitate when Holly coldly told him to “get back to work” as soon as he entered her field of view, as though he’d been a bothersome stain on a pair of crystal clear glasses. Coming to the police station while he was informally off-duty was a bad idea, but Tinsley figured this was second only to visiting the Goldsworth residence. <em>And</em>, he figured he might as well make sure that Darla was safe. He thought he’d been ready for the onslaught of Holly’s reasonably still burning wrath over the whole Darla incident. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was being blown out of proportion. </p><p> </p><p>He <em>did</em> hesitate when Darla had timidly asked him to accompany her to dinner that night. To be fair, she <em>did</em> converse warmly with him as soon as he arrived at the precinct, and she <em>did</em> attempt to console him when Holly essentially scolded him for not doing his job — which, again, was understandable, but Tinsley couldn’t help but feel the empty pit grow in his stomach. Despite being a relatively new hire in the department, Darla <em>was</em> a sweet young lady — a real girl-next-door — and Tinsley was certain any sensible man would already have fallen head over heels for her. Tinsley liked to think he was a sensible man, so he elected to ignore the growing sense of unease building within, and ate dinner with Darla. He opted to disregard the blatant lack of bickering over asinine topics, and chose to gloss over the fact that Darla’s warm grin made him wish to see Ricky’s angelic smile instead. He decided to omit the fact that he barely registered Darla’s lengthy life story about her father, despite being clearly and regrettably able to name Ricky’s favourite lollipop flavour — which, by the way, was lime. He willingly turned a blind eye to the way Darla’s mustard yellow heels clicking against the floor sounded like cat hairs brushed the wrong way. Because Tinsley was a sensible man — not <em>that kind of man</em> —, he didn’t want to think about Darla’s subtle hair flips and innocent laughs, about how he’d direly wished to see that familiar pair of fiery dark eyes in lieu of Darla’s demure, sapphire gaze. </p><p> </p><p>He <em>did</em> hesitate when he politely bid Darla good night at the closing of an inexplicably uncomfortable evening, and heard violent shouts in a dark alleyway on his way back. Curiosity and tingling detective senses got the better of him, so he carefully tiptoed to the source of unrest, against his better judgment. To his horror, he found Darla’s voice amidst the belligerent male shouts, a couple of gunshots, then nothing. He hesitantly peeked through the alleyway. Fortunately, Darla was nowhere to be found. </p><p> </p><p><em>Un</em>fortunately, Tinsley found a couple of freshly deceased men — presumably mobsters — laying in a puddle of their own blood. </p><p> </p><p><em>Un</em>fortunately, when Tinsley attempted to call in the deaths anonymously, he noticed the shell of a .45 caliber Colt bullet, and a pair of mustard yellow heels on the ground, two feet away from the mobsters’ bodies. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>two chapters in a day. you're welcome. </p><p>q. didn't you just almost lose your backup chapters a few days ago? aren't you going to save up in case something fucks up again?<br/>a. read some of your comments. got inspired. hunkered down and wrote four chapters in a row. long story short i got chapters to spare baby</p><p>thank you so much for your kind support!! to those of you who commented, i hope you know that you're the backbone of our society</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Curiosity Does Not</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: panic attack, mentions of suicidal ideation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>History repeats itself: Tinsley waking up in the dead of the night, his limbs kicking frantically at his own bed covers. Beads of cold sweat pearled at his forehead and neck. It took about three minutes before Tinsley finally stopped yelling at no one in particular, and realized where he was. He was in his room. There was no one in his room, save for the now agitated Buddy, his own ragged breathing, and the quiet, orderly ticking of a grandfather clock almost as tall as Tinsley himself. </p><p> </p><p>But the comfort of familiarity could not appease the dreadful churning in Tinsley’s stomach — you know, the one that scolds you for your unforgivable deeds. </p><p> </p><p>Eight years ago, those deeds had been in the form of a handwritten letter in Tinsley’s bedside drawer. It had been innocuous enough, until Tinsley realized it wiped out his sundered family, and made him wish he were dead in their stead. </p><p> </p><p>This time around, the deed was not handwritten, but Tinsley knew that Ricky wouldn’t forgive him either. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Scattered flashes and soft clicks of cameras punctuated an indistinguishable chattering of journalists in the crowd. In his usual surreptitious fashion, C.C. Tinsley sat in the corner of the room. Silent. Observing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The press room hadn’t been as packed as the first media conference Tinsley had attended in this city. Nevertheless, there was a sizeable number of people in the audience, their eyes riveted on the podium, where the mayor's soothing stance could almost silence Tinsley's inner storm.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Needless to say, Robert Goldsworth couldn't captivate Tinsley's attention, which was instead directed on a singular figure amidst the crowd, one that had now become ever so familiar. A caramel smooth skin that might as well have been kissed by the sun. Perfectly orderly, sleek raven hair straighter than Tinsley’s back. Sultry obsidian eyes that would not hesitate to defend their kind, nor to face the frights of life fearlessly. A razor sharp jaw sculpted Ricky Goldsworth’s angelic visage, the corner of his peachy pink lips ticking lightly upwards as he appeared to converse with a group of women.</p><p> </p><p>Who was Tinsley even trying to fool? This was one of the most beautiful men Tinsley ever had the opportunity to lay his eyes on. A real-life Michelangelo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But that wasn’t the point. C.C. Tinsley was far from focused on Ricky Goldsworth’s good looks. He’d been watching Ricky for a few days already. He’d seen the man stroll in his vast luxurious garden, carry a stack of seemingly important papers to the city hall, and converse with a mysterious, dark-haired woman with a wide-brimmed sunhat. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley realized he acted like a creepy peeping tom, but would swear he wasn't one. He wasn't <em>stalking</em> Ricky Goldsworth. And no, he wasn't working on his case either. Tinsley did it because he had <em>fucked up big time</em>, and he needed to talk to Ricky Goldsworth. </p><p> </p><p>He just hadn’t found the right time as of yet.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deserve love too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley scoffed bitterly under his breath. Love? Forget love, he didn't even deserve forgiveness. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You’re not destined for love, honey, and never will! You’ve forsaken God, and this is the price you pay! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The cold whisper of Eleanor's dying breath still sent shivers to Tinsley’s spine to this day. He so desperately wanted to forget. But the passing of time failed to fade the bloodshed etched so deeply into his tortured mind.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be. How could he deserve love, forgiveness, after all that had happened? He thought he’d been foolish the day Darla showed him the telltale card. He’d felt betrayed by a man portrayed to be so candid and true to the people and things he believed in. Granted, it hadn’t been entirely his fault, or so Dr. Fear would’ve suggested. But Dr. Fear’s words became bullshit the moment his eyes landed on the bullet case whose twin had so swiftly taken Lucy Goldsworth’s life. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley felt like a monumental idiot.</p><p> </p><p>He had been afraid the day Eleanor left, and he was afraid now, as he prepared to face Ricky Goldsworth. The situation was different, but that meant nothing, because Tinsley felt the same clamminess in his hands, the same dreadful churning feeling in his stomach, the same cold sweats… After all, this would be the second time he’d let down a person he cared about-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wait.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No, absolutely not.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley did not care about Ricky Goldsworth. This was evident, because Tinsley would much rather grow thorns under his naked soles. In fact, if being Not Hindered by Emotions had been a sport, Tinsley was an undefeated champion in his eighth year running. “Caring” was not something Tinsley intended to include in his professional career, because as far as Tinsley was concerned, “caring” brought about nothing but trouble.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, the uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach was loud and unmistakable. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was <em>terrified</em> of Ricky’s reaction, and the last time Tinsley checked, being terrified <em>did qualify</em> as a fucking emotion.</p><p> </p><p>He scarcely had the time to mull over that dawning realization, because murmurs began to multiply around him, and Robert Goldsworth stepped down towards a scattering audience. The speech was over, and Tinsley barely had the presence of mind to register it. </p><p> </p><p>What Tinsley <em>did</em> have the presence of mind to notice was the familiar figure of Ricky Goldsworth moving gracefully through the motions of the crowd. It was at this moment that Tinsley knew: it had to be now, or his nerves were never going to let him hear the end of it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh, fuck it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley picked up his pace, and approached his target. Ricky was walking with Robert Goldsworth towards the exit.</p><p> </p><p>“’Scuse me, “ Tinsley interjected as he tapped gently on Ricky’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky turned around, his dark eyes widening as they landed on Tinsley. His father quickly followed suit. </p><p> </p><p>“Detective Tinsley! Fancy seeing you here, how have you been? “</p><p> </p><p>Robert Goldsworth’s deep voice was warm and welcoming, but Tinsley felt anything but warm and welcome. Certainly, Ricky’s intense glare burning holes in his entire being had something to do with it. So he gulped.</p><p> </p><p>“I am doing... fine, thank you Mr. Goldsworth... Pardon me, but may I please have a word with your son? “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, absolutely! “ Robert Goldsworth exclaimed. “Ricky, I will be waiting for you in the car then. “</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, but father- “ Ricky protested, but the older man was already out of the door.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky let out a frustrated sigh, one that really, really sounded like a scream. Then, he turned towards Tinsley, arms crossed.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, <em>what</em> do you want? “</p><p> </p><p>What did Tinsley want? Tinsley wanted to fuck off to Schaumburg, and not have to endure another second of Ricky’s incendiary gaze. Tinsley wanted his heart to slow down, the knot in his stomach to undo itself, and his hands to stop sweating so Tinsley could at least <em>pretend</em> he wasn’t panicked to high heavens. But this was a conversation that had to be had, because if it didn't Tinsley might just spontaneously combust from his own, ceaseless nagging conscience.</p><p> </p><p>And so, he finally met Ricky’s pearled eyes, and said: “I want to apologize. For what I’ve said to you. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you want to <em>apologize</em> now? “ Ricky scoffed, his voice paved with the spiteful iciness of Antarctica. “You’ve got a lot to apologize for, sweetie. "</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I know.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Why don’t you start with the day you were born- “</p><p> </p><p><em>There it comes.</em> Tinsley winced and closed his eyes, bracing himself for impact. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There was no impact. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, there was an abrupt pause. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn't press on. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley opened his eyes, hesitantly. In lieu of the contorted, resentful frown he'd expected, there was simply... a look. An unreadable gaze, similar to the one Ricky gave him in that cozy diner not too long ago; only, Ricky seemed a bit warier than last time. </p><p> </p><p>It was almost as though the lights blurred away around the two men, and time had come to a screeching halt. Ricky wasn't berating Tinsley, and Ricky wasn't mocking Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky just... listened. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley swallowed. This was more luxury than Tinsley thought he could afford, but he figured he ought to take the opportunity before Ricky changed his mind. </p><p> </p><p>“I… I’m sorry. For judging you too soon, and for thinking that you targeted random people. “</p><p> </p><p>A beat.</p><p> </p><p>“I found out about Darla, “ Tinsley continued tentatively. He exhaled deeply as an attempt to suppress the faintly perceptible quivering in his own voice. “She has no criminal record, so naturally I assumed the worst. I, uh, was quickly proven wrong. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky raised an eyebrow. Tinsley fiddled with the loose threads at the seams of his pockets, and took a deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>“And while I don’t condone your methods, I do understand your hurt, Ricky. I really do. I understand your loss. I mean, my parents passed away eight years ago, and I have yet to forget that. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I don’t think I can ever forget that. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s dark eyes widened, and it was on the tip of Tinsley’s tongue to ask for the meaning behind Ricky’s reaction. But the cascade of words that poured out of his throat had already taken a life of its own, so Tinsley continued to push through his impromptu rambling. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not saying that you can’t move on from your mother’s passing. But I can understand your wanting to solve her death. I guess we should’ve just discussed this earlier before any of us assumed the wrong things. This one’s on me, I’ll admit it. I should’ve listened to you before judging you. I don’t expect you to forgive me after the things I’ve said to you, and I mean, why should you? I did say some pretty horrible things to you and refused to listen to your side of the story, and now we got two more dead people on our hands and- “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just going to cut you off right there before you word vomit any further, “ Ricky interrupted suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>“But- “</p><p> </p><p>“No buts, “ Ricky insisted, rolling his eyes. “Hear me out. I at least deserve that much. “</p><p> </p><p>And with that, Tinsley let go of whatever words still lingered in his throat, because he really couldn’t disagree with Ricky’s statement. That, and the fact that Ricky looked <em>positively incensed.</em></p><p> </p><p>“First of all, you’re a <em>fu</em>cking idiot, Tinsley, “ Ricky diagnosed, practically spitting out his words. Ire was palpable in his voice, but Tinsley was at least mildly reassured by the troubling impression that it sounded more like the enraged barking of a poorly contained chihuahua than an ominous death threat. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley lowered his gaze sheepishly. “I know. “</p><p> </p><p>“That was a dick move. “</p><p> </p><p>“I know. “</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you. “</p><p> </p><p>“No thank you, “ Tinsley retorted instinctively. </p><p> </p><p>For a split second, Ricky held back. He looked momentarily nonplussed by Tinsley’s answer. Then he chuckled. “I see that you’re still sharp-tongued as ever, Tinman. But fuck you, for not listening to me. Twice have I tried to tell you about it, and twice you just wrote me off. You are the worst detective to walk this wretched soil, and I damn hope you know that. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I do.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Secondly, “ Ricky continued, his tone shifting from resentfulness to… reluctance? “In case your dumbass tuned me out completely the last time I tried to tell you <em>anything</em> at all, let me fill you in on that: I am sorry. I should’ve insisted on telling you sooner. And I’m sorry I didn’t make it clearer. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. “Huh? “</p><p> </p><p>“Huh what? "</p><p> </p><p>"You're... sorry? "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected out of this conversation. He thought of it while observing Ricky, and then thought some more at the conference. The next thing he knew, he was dumping a flood of poorly formulated apologies onto Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you dipshit, “ Ricky waved nonchalantly, a hint of mild irritation in his voice. “Clearly you weren’t listening the last time I tried to do that, and it seems to be going just <em>swimmingly</em> this time around, “ he added sarcastically. </p><p> </p><p>"What? "</p><p> </p><p>Whatever Tinsley expected out of this conversation, he certainly did not expect Ricky to apologize. Ricky apologized anyways, leaving an immensely confused Tinsley in the wake of it.</p><p> </p><p>“I said I'm SORRY, asshat, " Ricky repeated, a little louder this time. "Jesus Christ, do you want me to spell it out for you? Have you trumpets for ears? "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley did not know what to do with that information.</p><p> </p><p>"... I guess I'm just surprised. "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I <em>know</em> I am a bit of a hothead. My mother told me that, my friend told me that, hell, even that baker boy down the street told me that. Trust me, the world is making sure I know. But I'm not an unscrupulous man, Tinsley. I know when to apologize, and when to forgive a person. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Forgive. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Forgiveness was a luxury Tinsley could not afford. Forgiveness was a rare find Tinsley had lost hope in ever acquiring the day Eleanor stumbled upon that wretched envelope in the drawer. That day, Tinsley had been unwillingly engulfed in a tumultuous whirlwind storm, consumed by it, jaded by it. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley did not expect forgiveness from Eleanor. Tinsley did not expect forgiveness from his parents. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley did not expect forgiveness from Ricky Goldsworth. </p><p> </p><p>But of course Ricky Goldsworth would be an outlier. Of course Ricky Goldsworth would tear apart the hurricane that had died eight years ago, and replace it with angry carnations and an endearing smile to kill. Of course Ricky Goldsworth would tell him off while simultaneously apologizing for something that, really, was Tinsley's fault. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth <em>forgave</em> Tinsley, something neither Eleanor nor the Tinsleys did — even to this day. Ricky Goldsworth <em>drew</em> Tinsley's eyes to his, like tides to the moon. Ricky Goldsworth <em>struck something</em> within Tinsley, awaking a myriad of confusing occurrences such as clammy hands, dry mouth, and a tight chest. </p><p> </p><p>Of course Ricky Goldsworth wasn't Eleanor. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth was just... Ricky. </p><p> </p><p>That realization, in itself, solved and created problems in distressingly equal parts. </p><p> </p><p>"Hello? Tinsley? Did you space out? "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky's smooth, yet slightly irritated voice pulled Tinsley out of his trance. Tinsley shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>"Sorry, yeah. I, uh, I'm sorry. Really, " he managed, stumbling on his words. </p><p> </p><p>And then he rambled some more, for good measure. “And you’re not an unscrupulous man! I said that in the heat of the moment. I didn’t know. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was aware that his words were making him sound like he cared more than he did. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley didn't care about Ricky. He was <em>curious</em> at best. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yeah, that's right. Curious. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky raised an eyebrow, and Tinsley felt the sweat pearling from his forehead. He silently cursed his thoughts for making him act strange. </p><p> </p><p>But if Ricky noticed, he didn’t comment on it. </p><p> </p><p>"Anyways, now that that's out of the way, “ Ricky muttered. “I also want to be clear: I did not threaten to kill Darla. "</p><p> </p><p>"You sent her a <em>death threat</em>, Ricky- "</p><p> </p><p>"No, hear me out, " Ricky interrupted, raising a finger at Tinsley in a silencing motion. Ricky met Tinsley's gaze, his obsidian eyes half-lidded yet brimming with a dark intensity. Tinsley’s breath hitched. ”If I had threatened her, she would already be dead by now. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley waited for a shiver in his spine that never came. Instead, Tinsley felt a wave of heat flushing through the cusps of his cheeks and the top of his ears. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Curiosity does not generate heat. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I sent the card because I was bored, " Ricky added, and shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>"So you send mock threats for fun? "</p><p> </p><p>"She <em>killed</em> my mother, Tinsley, " Ricky refuted pointedly. "It's only fair game. "</p><p> </p><p>Why would Tinsley be curious about such a lawless man? Sure, Ricky had an angel's smile, and Ricky's eyes could fuck a man. Ricky’s brain-to-mouth filter was <strike>abysmally</strike> candidly dysfunctional, and Ricky was <em>of his kind. </em></p><p> </p><p>But in Ricky's book, <em>eye for eye</em> is an acceptable method for dealing with Unpleasant Feelings, and sometimes, <em>eye for eye</em> involved people being <em>fucking murdered.</em> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Curiosity does not sympathize with murderers. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley swallowed. "Did you <em>intend</em> to kill Darla? "</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. Eventually. "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky's response had been so brief, so nonchalant, as though he was discussing the weather. And yet, Tinsley's heart slowed down, the knot in his stomach came undone, and his hands were no longer sweating. Tinsley had barely noticed his own subtle shift towards a twisted sense of determination. </p><p> </p><p>He cleared his throat. “Have you thought of putting her behind bars? "</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Ricky glanced at the floor, and let out a sigh that appeared closer to the resigned variety than the exasperated one. </p><p> </p><p>"That <em>is</em> an option, but I don't think she's going to get time for it. It's like Martin O'Connor. We all know that bastard did it, and yet the judge still acquitted him. Darla's going to go right through the justice system- "</p><p> </p><p>"How do you know without even trying? "</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Look</em>, some things don’t need trying for us to know the outcome- “</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds <em>real</em> fucking solid, Ricky- “</p><p> </p><p>“It's just like Martin O'Connor! " Ricky cried out in a wild outburst. </p><p> </p><p>"No it's not! " Tinsley retorted. He could feel his own voice rise, the warm sensation still ebbing within him, reaching through his cheeks. "Darla isn't Martin O'Connor, it's not even the same case- "</p><p> </p><p>"It's the same <em>kind</em> of case! The judge is going to rule her innocent because there isn't enough evidence- "</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll <strong>find</strong> it for you, your damn evidence! "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky's eyes widened. There was a brief moment of stunned silence, in which both men attempted to register the phrase Tinsley had just shouted out in a fit of automatism. Tinsley caught the judging gaze of a passing journalist at the corner of his eye. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hated feeling perceived, so he proceeded to justify himself in attempt to preserve an ostensibly crumbling sense of normalcy. </p><p> </p><p>"I mean, how about this? I'll find sufficient evidence to convict Darla. Based on what I've seen, it is feasible. And if that doesn't work, you can have it your way. Sounds like a deal? "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky brought his hand to his chin, his brows furrowing as Tinsley watched him mull over the benefits of not murdering the CPD secretary. Tinsley felt like he just dug himself a massive grave right there, and the fact that Ricky was taking an eternity to say anything was nothing less than excruciating. In fact, it was almost as though Tinsley had gone to trial himself. </p><p> </p><p>Then, with a voice full of grudging reluctance, Ricky finally spat out: </p><p> </p><p>"Fine. Do it your way, Tinsley. "</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Curiosity does not beam at the prospect of fixing a murderer. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>In <em>theory</em>, this conversation should have been a victory, yet Tinsley felt like he'd lost to the greater game of life, because curiosity most certainly did not beam happily at the sight of Ricky Goldsworth granting him lenience on what was essentially the most imbecile and unforgivable actions of all times. It was then that the sobering realization finally dawned upon C.C. Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>And he was utterly, utterly fucked. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'd like to start by thanking Sonzaishinai for making <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724963/chapters/73106514">fanart</a> of my fic ;__; got me all emotional on a friday night. i love it. i love it so much y'all should go check it out!!! amazing art 1000/10</p><p>secondly, it has been brought to my attention that a certain tinsley is reading my fic. yeah. you. if you're reading this you're now morally obligated to interact, i don't make the rules ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>kudos and comments appreciated as always!! thank you so much for the support &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. [Interlude] Why Ricky was Disappointed, but Still Apologized: A Brief Conversation Between Francesca Norris and Ricky Goldsworth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you sure you don’t want to explain yourself to Ceece? “</p><p> </p><p>“Hell no! “</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky, <em>what</em> did I say about staying on the good side of Sharp Eye? “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care, he can go eat shit for all I care at this point! He’s a garbage human who’s not going to listen to me anyways! “</p><p> </p><p>“He’s been tailing you for <em>three days</em>, Ricky. I think he knows. “</p><p> </p><p>“… “</p><p> </p><p>“… “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. “</p><p> </p><p>“Now go talk to him before he starts stalking me too. “</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, what do you mean he’s been tailing me for three days- “</p><p> </p><p>“I have to go, see you later sweetie! “</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>talk, don't stalk folks</p><p>this is just a fun little interlude i wrote because i was bored. actual chapter is chapter 25 (which i'm posting in ~15 mins), don't worry i'm not short-changing y'all</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Business Thoughts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>During daytime, they met at the police station, and sent death threats at each other.</p><p> </p><p>They threw each other snide remarks about Tinsley’s abysmal sense of fashion, and witty comments about the size of Ricky’s money pockets. They argued over the superiority of coffee over tea (or the lesser cultivated opinion of tea over coffee), and call the other a bigot for disagreeing. They emptily threatened each other with the cold barren floors of jail, a prolonged and excruciating death, a lifetime of agony, so much that even police officers began to worry about the safety of their building. </p><p> </p><p>Horsley raised an eyebrow, but only sometimes. While her icy azure gaze seemed wary of their strange routine, she opted not to comment over it. </p><p> </p><p>When the moon crossed paths with the dying golden sun, they met again, and greeted each other with a knowing sense of familiarity. They often chose XX Lake, but not always, because Chicago spring nights could be ruthlessly cold at times. When they <em>did</em> go to the lake, Ricky would jokingly tease Tinsley and say it was a date; Tinsley’s ears would flush beet red, and Tinsley himself would promptly insist that it was a strictly-for-business meeting. Unfortunately, sometimes, the weather cooperated poorly, and they’d hold their rendez-vous in Ricky’s office instead. Ricky would brew their preferred drinks, and Tinsley would begin to share his most recent findings on their prime suspect. They’d go over tapes, documents, photographs, witness testimonies, crossing off the irrelevant, circling the unclear, and marking up the interesting leads. </p><p> </p><p>This went on for a few weeks.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, they didn’t meet every day, because Tinsley had insisted they do not, citing some miscellaneous reasons about his cat or something.  </p><p> </p><p>Regardless, without even noticing, Ricky slowly dipped his toes back into the troubled waters of crime investigation. His relationship with the detective world had been a tumultuous one, and his ex-job had been a callous, capricious lover whom he thought he’d never return to.</p><p> </p><p>But so far, “detective work” had been relatively lenient on him, which meant that it was limited to keeping an eye on Darla — something he had already been doing before hiring the Sharp Eye. In fact, only the intention shifted: evidently, there <em>had</em> to be a difference between investigating someone and <em>killing</em> someone. </p><p> </p><p>Strange, how times changed. </p><p> </p><p>Never in a million years did Ricky envision himself on the legal side of justice again. If there had been one thing that life had taught Ricky, it was that the justice system was faulty, which was to say, <em>completely unreliable</em>. He had come to prefer much quicker alternatives. And sure, he’d get his hands dirty, but at least it got the job done. If that alone was not enough to appease his worries, the mass appraisal from his fellow citizens would usually take care of his remnant doubts over <em>doing the right thing</em>. </p><p> </p><p>But then came C.C. Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky wasn’t fooling himself. C.C. Tinsley was <em>damn good</em> at his job. This was possibly one of the brightest detectives of their generation. Of <em>course</em> he’d wanted this man’s help, because while Fran had shown him pretty compelling evidence that Darla did it, he knew better than to trust a single photograph, which was to say that Ricky wanted to make sure there were no other accomplices. </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, a stupid misunderstanding happened, and now <em>murder</em> was off the table for a while. </p><p> </p><p>Sure, Ricky could’ve just called the deal off, and searched on his own like he did in the past few months. But he didn’t <em>want</em> to. He told himself he had waited for months, therefore he could afford another few weeks. </p><p> </p><p>And Ricky was strong enough to admit that he was curious about Sharp Eye’s abilities <strike>and Tinsley as a person</strike>. He couldn’t really explain it, but he felt an odd sense of ease around C.C. Tinsley. It was as though something within Ricky trusted that, where he couldn’t reach, <em>Tinsley</em> would be able to; that <em>Tinsley</em> could make the system work. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky lifted his head, and watched the soaring of birds into the fiery skies. He exhaled, then turned around the street corner. </p><p> </p><p>It was getting late, and Ricky had cleared his schedule for the rest of the evening. He wasn’t <em>supposed</em> to meet Tinsley today. But he had picked up a habit, one that involved watching over the taller detective as the latter flipped through dozens of newspaper clippings in his office. </p><p> </p><p>And no, Tinsley didn’t know Ricky was there. But Ricky watched. </p><p> </p><p>He watched Tinsley furrow his brows at photographs, highlight sections of case files, replay the same ten seconds of grainy footage over, and over, and over. Tinsley would sit at his desk until the sun fell, and Ricky seldom saw the man eat before nine. Tinsley would gently card his fingers through his unruly hair, and caress his black kitten even gentler. Tinsley would get up from his seat just to prepare food… for his cat. He’d only cook something for himself much later. </p><p> </p><p>In terms of guests, there were no guests. Aside from Horsley and a few police officers whose names Ricky couldn’t recall, Tinsley never received anyone at his office, let alone his apartment. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take a genius to understand the situation. </p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was a lonely workaholic. Even Ricky could tell, in the short time he’d observed the man. And the sight of Tinsley’s bleary eyes as he dragged himself in and out of office every day was enough to make Ricky’s fist clench around his binoculars. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe, just maybe, Tinsley stirred a little <em>something</em> in Ricky. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Ricky stirred <em>something</em> in Tinsley, and a <em>whole fuck ton</em> of it. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t get much better for Tinsley after that day. But who was he to blame? He himself had stupidly offered to double his own workload, and Ricky had somehow agreed it’d be a good idea. They both knew full well that C.C. Tinsley does not abandon his cases, so Tinsley just kept doubling down. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley liked to think they met strictly for business purposes. </p><p> </p><p><em>Un</em>fortunately for Tinsley, Tinsley’s eyes liked to gravitate to the collarbone that peaked lightly beneath Ricky’s popped collar. Tinsley’s gaze enjoyed lingering a little too long over the way Ricky, with his usual poise, held his cup pinky up, the same pinky that would curl ever so lightly around the shiny emerald pen as Ricky scribbled floral notes during their investigative nights — oh, and Tinsley would reluctantly remember that Ricky was left-handed. Tinsley registered the fleeting raspy inflections in Ricky’s angelic voice, the light uptick of the corner of his lip as he smirked flirtily for the umpteenth time running. And Tinsley couldn’t help but notice the faint, soothing fragrance of carnations when he sat just a little closer to Ricky, a scent that wrapped around them like a gentle veil shielding them from the uncertain world. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley wasn’t an insane man, but maintaining rationality was getting increasingly difficult as of late. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky was a serial killer, and therefore a morally corrupt man. Tinsley <em>knew</em> that much.</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley also knew that Ricky also told off rowdy violent men at the bar to defend <em>his kind</em>, and that Ricky cried over his mother in such a fragile manner. Ricky, too, was once a detective, and had once sought after justice so fervently. Ricky was wealthy and a shit-eating brat, but he didn’t blatantly bask in flamboyant luxury at all times. Most importantly, he’d give Tinsley a pass before Tinsley himself did. </p><p> </p><p>Naturally, to paint Ricky Goldsworth under an accusatory light was getting increasingly and distressingly difficult. Tinsley’s mind kept supplying the immensely unhelpful thought that Ricky wasn’t <em>all that bad</em>, as if Tinsley didn't already struggle to disagree with that. </p><p> </p><p>The worst part of it all was that Ricky hardly even did anything out of the ordinary. He’d joke about the meetings being dates, and send Tinsley an occasional wink that might as well shut down Tinsley’s blood pressure. He’d throw a couple of playful death threats at Tinsley as a part of their now practically cemented ritual of daily bickering — one that would often earn them a fully judgmental glare on Holly’s part. </p><p> </p><p>While the mutual yelling over bread <em>did</em> effectively cover for their unlikely alliance, Tinsley had a hunch Holly might be a little bit more on his tail lately. Tinsley didn’t hold it against her, because the dusty manila folder on his desk and Holly both agreed that Tinsley was <em>positively slacking off</em> on the White Wolf case. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn’t bother changing that. </p><p> </p><p>Once, Ricky offered to hold Tinsley’s hand on their way back from XX Lake. While it didn’t <em>mean</em> anything — it was a cold night, and they were talking about cold hands — Tinsley nearly bolted home on the spot. </p><p> </p><p>He opted to fully disregard that incident. </p><p> </p><p>Thus, after the aforementioned series of upsetting events, Tinsley had concluded that the problem was, in fact, himself. It had been simple from a theoretical standpoint: turn in Lucy Goldsworth’s killer, then turn in Ricky Goldsworth. Nothing more, nothing less. But Tinsley’s mind just <em>had</em> to come into the picture, and mess up the whole painting. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps this was the regrettable culmination of years of voluntary celibacy, where Tinsley’s inner workings had finally given up on him. </p><p> </p><p>But wilted camellias cannot, and should not be revived.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn't want to. In fact, he resented it. He resented himself for his deviant tendencies, and resented the way he noticed tiny details of a <em>serial killer</em>. He resented the infelicitous wandering of his eyes, and the way his chest wouldn’t budge at the sight of pretty ladies the way others’ would. He resented his hands for penning that consequential letter eight years ago. </p><p> </p><p>It would all be so simple, had he been <em>normal</em>. </p><p> </p><p>But C.C. Tinsley wasn’t <em>normal</em>. Their meetings and conversations may have been perfectly fine, and they admittedly formed a good team, but Tinsley’s stupid, <em>not-normal</em> self just had to come into the picture and compromise… <em>whatever the hell this is</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley despised himself for it. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Was C.C. Tinsley into men? </p><p> </p><p>Ricky once thought the answer to be fairly straightforward. On their first official encounter — Ricky had made the conscious decision to omit that car crash incident, for his own sanity — Tinsley’s flickering gaze and flushed ears were fairly telling. According to the way Tinsley’s pupils poured over his coffee-coloured irises like the birth of a lustful new moon, C.C. Tinsley was <em>interested</em> in Ricky Goldsworth. </p><p> </p><p>But then Tinsley declined his advances that day, and the day after, and then the day after that. </p><p> </p><p>In fact, Tinsley turned out to be quite the difficult one. He’d become pointedly avoidant at questions he deemed too personal, and insist that their meetings were <em>not dates</em> (although, in his defense, Ricky <em>was</em> joking). Ricky would sometimes catch a fleeting glimpse of Tinsley’s soft earthly stare, only to see the taller man shake his head and bring up some unmemorable details about Darla. </p><p> </p><p>There was that night at XX Lake as well. They were walking back from a night of exchanges on a particularly cold night of April, during which they <em>really should’ve gone to his office instead</em>. But they didn’t, so Tinsley coped by whispering about the coldness of his hands in a cloud of his own freezing breath. </p><p> </p><p>“Get some gloves, “ Ricky had jokingly dismissed. </p><p> </p><p>In characteristic fashion, Tinsley told him off, <em>again</em>, for being a rich brat. Ricky had laughed about it — as he usually did now. Only that somewhere down the line, he had unconsciously reached his hand out as a silent offering. He only realized what he had done when his eyes met Tinsley’s gaze, and Tinsley looked like a deer caught in the headlights. It took Tinsley a few seconds before he managed a small “no, thank you”, shook his head, and walked in awkward silence for the rest of their itinerary. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley looked… nervous.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky wondered if there had been more to it. </p><p> </p><p>That incident aside, Tinsley would greet him politely at night, and work ceaselessly on the case. His soft eyes always held a tint of melancholy, better known to Ricky under the reluctantly affectionate sobriquet of “sad puppy eyes”. Ricky couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to that gentle brown gaze shining mournful blue. Tinsley did mention the death of his parents, although Ricky didn’t have much more information on that — as he usually did with all things related to C.C. Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>It was then that Ricky realized that most of what he knew about Tinsley, he learned through observation. Tinsley was an iron door that wouldn’t budge. Maybe Tinsley actually wasn’t into men. After all, he was married, once. </p><p> </p><p>But why would Ricky care? Ricky wasn’t looking for a relationship. He’d have flings with men and women here and there, but as long as his mother’s killer roamed free, he didn’t think he could reasonably settle down. </p><p> </p><p>But he could admit that he was curious about Tinsley, and that Tinsley did have some endearing qualities — his atrocious driving skills being an exception still. </p><p> </p><p><em>Dating</em> C.C. Tinsley, however, was out of the question. For starters, Tinsley wore mismatched socks on a daily basis, and that in itself was a war crime. His horrible fashion sense aside, Tinsley was infuriatingly fixated over justice and “doing things the right way”. He was just like Lucy Goldsworth, a quality that Ricky appreciated, but would definitely land Tinsley in a ditch one day. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky was simply… curious. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>friendship is when u stalk and send death threats at each other for fun</p><p>i haven't responded to your comments yet (but i will as soon as i hit the post button), but can i just say that they warm my heart so much and i appreciate every single one of you thank you so much!!! </p><p>one thing i'll say is that i'm very proud of the chapter that's going to come out next monday, so stay tuned for that :D of course, kudos comments etc very welcome mm yes feed the author</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Fuck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: internalized homophobia</p><p>also heads-up, this is an italics-heavy chapter so<br/>NORMAL FONT = present time<br/>ITALICS = tinsley's flashbacks</p><p>enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or so Tinsley would describe this night, as he stumbled out of the crowded bar and into the cool, damp air of April spring. </p><p> </p><p>How did he even end up here? </p><p> </p><p>As a matter of fact, he didn’t actually want to be here in the first place. He had no reason to drink, and never had a reason to converse with inebriated townsfolk in a cramped up space people strangely flocked to for entertainment. When Tinsley did not feel like drinking, bars were nothing but an unnecessary and completely avoidable nightmare, and nothing could change his mind about that. </p><p> </p><p>It had been Ricky’s idea — “you can’t enjoy a party to save your life, “ Ricky had said, and dragged him into what was effectively a hell hole under the pretext of “teaching [him] how to live”. Tinsley did protest, but quickly resigned to his fate for the night, because what Ricky wanted, Ricky got. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Detective Tinsley. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A cool, silvery female voice chimed in Tinsley’s back as he walked back from a long day at the precinct. It wasn’t a voice from any of the female staff at the CPD, so Tinsley quickly turned around to see the woman who had called him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>There on the sidewalk stood a tall, dark-haired woman whose deep-set eyes hid behind a pair of earth-tinted sunglasses. She looked Tinsley’s age. The woman’s wide-brimmed sunhat cast a soft shadow onto her flowy saffron dress and her pearl necklace. This was a woman who exuded mystery, stature, and elegance in every iteration of the term. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley couldn’t put a name to her face. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel an unmistakable sense of déjà-vu. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Pardon me ma’am, but have we met before? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The woman smiled lightly.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“We have. But I believe we haven’t introduced ourselves to each other formally yet — or at least, I haven’t done so. “ In a swift and poised motion, she tipped her hat and bowed gently as she lifted her dress ever-so-slightly. “Francesca Norris, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Pleased to meet you, detective Tinsley. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley nodded gingerly. “To what do I owe the honour of meeting you, madam Nor- “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Francesca, please, “ Francesca interrupted him flatly. She leaned casually onto the side of the building wall. “Now that we’re done with the formalities, I’m going to cut right to the chase. I’m not here today as a federal agent, detective. I’m here on my best friend’s behalf. You might better know him as Ricky Goldsworth. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The previous bar had been unmemorable, as were all the ones that preceded it. Tinsley was surgically meticulous when it came to crime scene evidence, but he had a long-time habit of disregarding the aesthetics of objects, clothes, places. Bars, for instance, were particularly prone to being forgotten as a result of alcohol consumption. However, if Tinsley would ever remember anything about the bar Ricky dragged him into, it would certainly be the vibrant scarlet colours splayed across every wall of the venue, and the bright lights that illuminated the counter like street lamps on a quiet sidewalk. This bar was a <em>looker</em>, one where Tinsley had never seen anything even remotely alike before. </p><p> </p><p>But other than that, the bar was as noisy as every other one. The loud clanking of beer glasses and the boisterous shouts of drunken men sounded like nails against a chalkboard in spite of the lively jazz music in the background. To loosen him up, Ricky did bring him a drink — then poured him a couple more for good measure. Unfortunately, liquid courage, along with Ricky’s futile diversions, failed to numb Tinsley against the hubbub of laughter and shouting in a bar that also strongly reeked of cigarettes. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sighed, and took another generous swig of his beer, feeling it burn as it went down. </p><p> </p><p>This was going to be a long night. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Suddenly, it all made sense. He remembered the woman who was with Ricky the day he crashed Ricky’s car. He remembered the woman he’d bumped into in SUNSET diner. He remembered Francesca’s familiar silhouette on the many occasions in which Ricky conversed with other people. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No wonder she seemed familiar. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No wonder Ricky never left traces. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Ricky has told me about you, “ Francesca continued coolly. “I know about your little deal. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“So you know about Ricky’s crimes? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Not so fast there, detective, “ she laughed, raising her hands in defense. “I know you’re still on the case. I’ll only say this: I have every intention of standing by Ricky. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Before Tinsley could retort, she continued. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“And if you think you can use our conversations against him, “  Francesca warned, her voice slowing and dropping almost icily. “Think twice. I’m sure you don’t want me to tell the world about Oscar Tinsley. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A shiver ran down Tinsley’s spine. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“How did you- “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I work for the Federal Bureau, never forget that, “ Francesca answered, a satisfied smile forming on her face. “I think it would be anything but mutually beneficial if you go down this route, detective. But I also think that is the least of my worries right now. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Quick update on Tinsley’s night of suffering: the band dialled down by playing “Ask Me Now”, and Ricky had taken it upon himself to make Tinsley dance to the music. Again, Tinsley protested, but what Ricky wanted, Ricky got. </p><p> </p><p>Therefore, Tinsley ended up in the middle of the crowded room, his clammy hands clasped around Ricky’s. Tinsley didn’t even attempt to dance; his main goal was to not step on Ricky’s feet. </p><p> </p><p>An unsuccessful bid, judging from Ricky’s unfettered laugh. </p><p> </p><p>“You have two left feet, “ Ricky commented between two chuckles. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was bad at remembering bar nights. But he had a feeling he was going to remember this dance. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley blinked. “What do you mean? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Francesca chuckled lightly. “I think you know exactly what I mean. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know what you’re talking about. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Oh, but you do. I don’t think you’re in the position to turn him in anytime soon. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“That’s because I need to find his mother’s ki- “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“There’s more to that. Tell me, Tinsley. What’s Ricky to you? Why are you so keen on helping him? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The words that were about to pour out of Tinsley’s throat came to a screeching halt. Tinsley glanced at Francesca, and for a split second, he thought he could catch a glimpse of her inquisitive eyes behind those tinted shades. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It was as though… she knew. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley shook his head. “I… don’t know. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You do. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He knew. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You like him. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley swallowed. His gaze fell to the ground. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He did. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But he couldn’t afford to admit that. It came at a cost far too great, and Tinsley knew that more than anyone in the world. He was not destined for love, and never would be. Any attempts at reversing the course of life was futile. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>So he shook his head again, and said: “Are… you asking this because you’re interested in Ricky? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Francesca quirked an eyebrow, then burst out in laughter. “Well, you certainly aren’t lacking in the crazy theories department, detective. And the answer is no; I’m a lesbian. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley chose to ignore the swell of relief expanding through his chest and washing over him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You know what, this is getting on my nerves, “ Francesca declared flatly. “You don’t have to admit it if you don’t want to. But it’s pretty obvious. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“… Is it? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Francesca shrugged. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Why the self-torture, detective? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley scratched the nape of his neck, his gaze still fixed on his shoes. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I wouldn’t call it self-torture; precaution might be more accurate. Say that hypothetically, I do like him, “ he hedged, ignoring Francesca’s derisive snort. “I wouldn’t want to fall for someone who isn’t interested in me. Now that, Francesca, would be self-torture. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A pause. Francesca hummed. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Ricky has been acting strange lately, “ she finally let out. “Ever since you carried him home after a drunk night- “ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Wait, how do you know that- “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“-I know a lot of things, detective, “ Francesca laughed. “He sounds less like he’s going to kill you, which, considering your diametrically opposed objectives, is quite the feat. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Isn’t he the kind of guy who strings along one-night stands for fun? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Well, yeah, he does that too, “ Francesca chuckled. “But if Ricky wanted to hit it and quit it with you, he would’ve done so already. He hasn’t fooled around for over a month now. Half of our conversations are about you, and frankly, it’s starting to become insufferable. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley stared at his loosely tied shoelaces. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and began to play absently with the loose threads at the seams. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I guess… I also don’t want to simply fall for the only other man who’s into men. “ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That, and the glaringly ineluctable fact that Ricky Goldsworth was a serial killer. Just the right amount of problematic. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“So you are into men. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“No- I mean- this is all a hypothetical situation- “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You don’t need to lie to me, Tinsley. My mouth remains shut, “ Francesca said, her hand delicately drawing a zipping motion around her merlot-coloured lips. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley didn’t insist on correcting her. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“How did you know? “ he let out, almost defeatedly. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Francesca’s playful smile carefully concealed the dangerous glint behind her tinted shades. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Observation. You must know that you weren’t exactly subtle at the diner. Don’t worry; all of this will remain confidential… as long as you do not use our conversations against Ricky. Otherwise, I’m sure you know what I can do. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley knew he wasn’t subtle. </p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t, because Ricky beamed with energy, and Ricky smelled faintly of carnations, and <em>ohgodohgodohgod</em> Ricky swayed mere inches away from Tinsley’s body. And Tinsley? Tinsley’s heart fluttered in sync with Ricky’s eyelashes as they “danced” in an alarmingly close proximity to the lulling melodies of the jazz ballad. It took Tinsley everything not to tremble as he held Ricky’s hands — and even then, their clamminess was embarrassing enough. Ricky’s full-bodied laughter was enough to send him into a drunken stupor. </p><p> </p><p>He hated it, and blamed it on alcohol. </p><p> </p><p>He hated himself even more when, shortly after the dance, Ricky hurried off to the bathroom, leaving Tinsley alone at the bar counter. That in itself wouldn’t have posed a problem, until a blonde man sat beside him, and began to converse with him. The blonde man was well-built and friendly. Tinsley hadn’t thought much of it at first, and indulged the man in lighthearted discussions over the Chicago weather, his neighbourhood, and favourite colour. </p><p> </p><p>Unease began to set in a few minutes later, when Ricky was still not back from the restroom, and the blonde man began to ask more personal questions, sitting a little closer to Tinsley with every passing minute. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley gave the man the benefit of the doubt, and opted instead to fiddle with his empty beer glass as he shifted around his chair uncomfortably. He noticed the man drum his rough fingers absently against the counter. He wished the man had the same graceful fingers and manners as Ricky Goldsworth, and immediately hated himself for the thought. </p><p> </p><p>“Arthur? Are you still here? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley turned his eyes to the blonde man — Frank? — and met his gaze. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes? “ Tinsley replied. He remembered he had given Frank a fake name. </p><p> </p><p>“Anyways, “ Frank continued, a strange look to his face. Tinsley couldn’t help but notice Frank’s face wasn’t as smooth and balanced as Ricky’s. He hated himself for it. “What I meant is that... Please don’t take this wrong if you’re not, but I’m into men. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, “ Tinsley said. He swallowed. </p><p> </p><p>“More specifically, I’m into you, “ Frank whispered, inching closer to Tinsley. Tinsley shifted in his seat again, and felt a sick feeling in his stomach as he caught a nauseating waft of Frank’s boozy breath. He had wanted to leave the bar on multiple occasions tonight, but <em>this</em> was a particularly compelling moment. </p><p> </p><p>He remembered that night in Ricky’s office, when Ricky inched closer to his ear and whispered sultrily to him as blood flushed the tip of his ears. He remembered his own want, and how Ricky’s peachy lips had seemed so alluring to him. </p><p> </p><p>But Ricky was Ricky. </p><p> </p><p>Sure, Frank did the same thing as Ricky; but Frank wasn’t Ricky. </p><p> </p><p>It was then that Frank lunged forward without a warning. Horrifyingly, his lips were aiming for Tinsley’s, and Tinsley felt so viscerally repulsed that he pushed the blonde man away before any unwanted collisions occurred. Frank’s eyes widened, and Tinsley prepared to formulate some kind of apology when he caught a glimpse of Ricky standing at the corner of the room, staring at him with his mouth slightly agape. </p><p> </p><p>The logical thing to do would’ve been to apologize to Frank. The impulsive thing to do would’ve been to explain the situation to Ricky, even though Ricky wasn’t interested in Tinsley, and Ricky himself was <em>of his kind</em>. </p><p> </p><p>The idiotic thing to do would be to <em>book it</em>, and that’s exactly what Tinsley did, after mumbling some half-baked apology and slamming his way through the still-dancing crowd. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t matter that Ricky was calling for Tinsley as he staggered towards the exit. It didn’t matter that Frank didn’t kiss him in the end. Because as Tinsley took in a whiff of the cool, damp air of April spring, he realized that it hadn’t even been his perverse propensities. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky was Ricky. </p><p> </p><p>No one else could replace him. </p><p> </p><p>And Tinsley was utterly, utterly fucked. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this was just an excuse for me to start a chapter with the word "fuck", and i'm proud of it. sue me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Run, Run, Run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: graphic depictions of violence, drugs mention</p><p>also, just so you know, when tinsley's pov comes in ("A few weeks flew by"), it's not a time jump - we're still on the same night! i just needed to give tinsley's pov some context </p><p>enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maybe C.C. Tinsley wasn’t into men. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky carefully wiped the fresh dark blood off of his blade. He gazed into the golden, almost iridescent reflection of his own dark eyes. Polished, stealthy, loyal; Ricky had himself engraved a carnation flower onto the smooth, Amboyna burl wood of the knife handle. </p><p> </p><p>It didn't just do the job; it created art, as inkpens would when they glided smoothly across the notebook sheet in twists and twirls. The premise was the same; only the canvas was human flesh, and the ink was lukewarm blood. </p><p> </p><p><em>Be more creative</em>, Ricky thought humourlessly as he stared down at the now lifeless body that laid at his feet. </p><p> </p><p>Stabbing a misogynistic killer wasn’t high on Ricky’s list of things to do as of late, but he was on his way home, and he had recognized the man from newspaper clippings. </p><p> </p><p>He had steam to let out.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky gazed into the clear night sky.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was... beyond strange. Was he into men? His lingering look on Ricky when they danced that night said yes. His past marriage begged to differ. But maybe Tinsley liked men and women, as Ricky did. </p><p> </p><p>The natural course of action then was to conduct tests, so Ricky took it upon himself to sneak Tinsley into a <em>gay bar</em>. Well, Tinsley could also use some fun — the guy seemed stiffer than an ancient tree, Ricky thought, and then felt a foot step on his own. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley <em>was</em> stiffer than an ancient tree. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Okay, his dancing could use some work. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky wasn't here to give dance lessons. He was here to observe C.C. Tinsley, and so far, C.C. Tinsley wasn't budging. </p><p> </p><p>Exasperated, Ricky headed to the bathroom for a breather, and came back to find his seat occupied. It had been innocuous enough, and Ricky thought that he might finally get an answer to this stupid curiosity of his. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hey, at least people do appreciate this guy's presence.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Turns out people didn't just <em>fancy</em> Tinsley, they tried to <em>kiss</em> <em>him</em>, which was quite the oddly upsetting finding of the night. Ricky remembered the tall detective’s distinctly awkward shifts in his seat, culminating into a sudden push, and wide brown eyes staring at him like a deer in the headlights. By the time Ricky reached the exit, Tinsley was nowhere to be found, so Ricky took it out on the blonde fuckwad.</p><p> </p><p><em>Kiss a man on the first date, but make sure it's a first date</em>, Ricky warned darkly, and the man nodded vigorously. Ricky was no stranger to crime, but he drew the line at sexual harassment.</p><p> </p><p>But perhaps it didn't matter, because Tinsley looked so <em>viscerally disgusted</em> that it made Ricky's stomach churn uncomfortably.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe C.C. Tinsley wasn’t into men after all. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky got his answer. Naturally he should move on from that stupid question altogether, right? Right. </p><p> </p><p>Except Ricky didn’t. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky looked down at the dead man, hovered his hand over the man's palm before retracting it, the white felted card still between his fingers. Ricky discarded his bloodied shirt, recalled Tinsley’s soft brown-eyed gaze, and then felt a sick feeling in his stomach. Ricky walked down the street, slipped through Tinsley’s back window into Tinsley’s empty office room, and then filled the cat’s bowl with premixed food. Ricky knelt down, petted the purring black kitten, and then left promptly before its owner came home. </p><p> </p><p>Murder had been off the table for a while now, and somehow, Ricky didn’t intend for Tinsley to think otherwise anytime soon. They might both be detectives, but they existed in different worlds; Ricky at least knew that much. Tinsley wouldn’t survive a day in his stead; he would get himself killed, sooner or later. But where Ricky failed as a detective, <em>Tinsley</em> most definitely flourished.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He could probably make it work. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky walked. Walking did not erase the nagging feeling of shame and unease that had followed him from the crime scene.</p><p> </p><p>But walking <em>did</em> land Ricky in the proximity of gunshots down the alley, and the bolting silhouette of a tall, distressingly familiar man.  </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>A few weeks flew by. </p><p> </p><p>They had gathered a reasonable amount of evidence by now — almost enough to mount a compelling case against Darla. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley did not turn in jobs “almost” done. Tinsley scraped through the bottom of the barrel until it smiled back at him. </p><p> </p><p>That’s why at seven in the evening, Tinsley made it his personal responsibility to tiptoe along the side wall of the city hospital. His hands brushed against the gritty surface of stacked bricks. His ears focused on the clicking of heels against the concrete ground, and his eyes remained trained on the auburn ponytail that moved ten feet away from him. </p><p> </p><p>Darla had a habit of visiting the hospital after her work hours. While Tinsley pretty much knew her role in Lucy Goldsworth’s death by now, he still couldn’t quite grasp what Darla was doing here. </p><p> </p><p>Did she work night shifts as a nurse? Was she tending to a sick loved one? Did she hold a secret mob base within the confines of the hospital?</p><p> </p><p>And no, the last theory wasn’t<em> complete horseshit.</em> Lucy Goldsworth did die on a drug investigation.</p><p> </p><p>Drug cases seldom involved lone criminals. </p><p> </p><p>And that was exactly what frustrated Tinsley so much as he tried, multiple times, to follow Darla into the hospital. Apparently, she was in possession of a couple of staff keys, and Tinsley would always, <em>always</em> lose track of her as soon as she crossed those impassible doors. Once, Darla turned around before entering the restricted area, and Tinsley quickly hid behind a medication trolley. He could’ve sworn she’d seen him that night, but she didn’t mention it at the precinct if she did. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was going to pull his own hair out at this rate. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh well. Any speculation is futile right now. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The heels stopped clicking, leaving nothing but silence in the scene. Tinsley glanced furtively at the short-framed girl, who appeared eerily immobile at the corner of the hospital building. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley lined himself against the cold wall, and held his breath in. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Five seconds. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ten seconds. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then the heels resumed their clicking. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley exhaled, and promptly moved a step forward-</p><p> </p><p>“I know you’re there, detective Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley lifted his head, and found Darla’s cold sapphire eyes glaring at him, then at the camera hanging on his chest. He let out a nervous chuckle, and raised his hands in defense. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not what it looks like- “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hardly had the time to finish his sentence before Darla rifled around in her bag and swiftly pulled out a handgun, aiming it right at his rapidly beating chest. Tinsley heard the safety of the gun flick off, which meant that he had no more than five seconds to dodge the bullet. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley ducked down. </p><p> </p><p>At first, there was nothing. </p><p> </p><p>Then sharp. Sharp, searing pain oozed out of his left shoulder. It felt like a thousand needles pricking his flesh to the bone. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s vision hazed around the edges, and narrowed down on his blood-stained right hand. Amidst the shrill ringing in his ears, he could faintly hear the clicking of footsteps. Approaching. Closer. </p><p> </p><p>He made a run for it. Gunshots quickly followed suit. Tinsley could hear Darla’s maniacal laughter behind him. At this rate, his racing heart might’ve given up before his shoulder did. </p><p> </p><p>Panting, Tinsley rushed to the backside of the hospital parking lot, and quickly hid behind a bush. It took him everything to silence the burning pain and his frantic heartbeat. Slowing the adrenaline in his veins was no easy feat, but it was definitely the preferable option to being <em>shot in the head</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Detective Tinsley! Where are you? “ Darla called out in a singsong voice. Tinsley held in his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, I know you’re here. Didn’t you want to snoop on me? I’m right here! “ </p><p> </p><p>Darla continued to taunt him, all the while laughing in a completely, frighteningly unhinged manner. This was nothing like the warm, reserved secretary he knew. The difference was nothing short of jarring. </p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley stayed still, and bit his lip to distract himself from the pain. </p><p> </p><p>A beat. </p><p> </p><p>Then another. </p><p> </p><p>Then several others. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could hear nothing but the frantic beating of his own restless heart. But he waited. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re such a spoilsport, detective Tinsley, “ Darla finally let out after a mocking sigh. “But sure. Have it your way. You can’t hide forever anyways. “</p><p> </p><p>The sound of her deranged laughter thundered down on Tinsley again, before fading into the distance, until it was barely above a whisper. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly, Tinsley lifted himself up, wincing at the stabbing pain in his arm as he got up. He peeked through the bushes, and was relieved to find no one. He let out a long-held breath as he staggered towards the side entrance of the hospital, using his right hand as support for his burning hot shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>At least it occurred next to a hospital. <em>Count your blessings, am I right?</em></p><p> </p><p>But the burning pain was getting to Tinsley’s head, and his vision blurred to an increasingly worrying extent. </p><p> </p><p>“Detective? What are you doing here? “</p><p> </p><p>An older, slightly startled male voice. Tinsley turned to greet the man and found constellations of stars in his stead, which <em>couldn</em>’t be a good sign. </p><p> </p><p>Luckily, he recognized the man’s warm voice. </p><p> </p><p>“Dr. Fear. “</p><p> </p><p>“Goodness, you are badly injured, detective, “ Dr. Fear said gravely. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley laughed humourlessly. “I guess I am. “</p><p> </p><p>He felt his right arm getting picked up, then slung over someone’s shoulder. He could barely see anymore at this point. He simply felt himself drift in and out of consciousness as he teleported through the hospital and onto a bed, vaguely picking up some last echoes of Dr. Fear’s toneless voice. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Come on, let’s go… will get you help… bring him to second floor…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then he felt something prickle the crook of his arm, and there was nothingness. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Nothingness didn’t last long, because Tinsley was slapped out of it. </p><p> </p><p>Slapped out of it quite literally, in fact. Tinsley could hardly come up with a different conclusion, because his cheeks felt almost as hot as his shoulder, and <em>something-</em> no, <em>someone</em> was sitting on his stomach. When his eyes finally fluttered open, he was faced with an evidently distraught Ricky Goldsworth straddling him on what appeared to be a hospital bed, tears pearling at the edges of his dark eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“About fucking time, you dimwit! “ Ricky screamed at him. “Get the fuck up, NOW, we HAVE to go! “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley <em>couldn</em>’t get up, because he had a million different things to register. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky sitting in his lap? Ricky in the same bed as him? Ricky with tears in his eyes, telling him to… escape? </p><p> </p><p>“… What’s going on? “ Tinsley croaked out, trying his very best to ignore the implications of the <em>situation</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Now’s not the time for explanations, Tinman, we really have to get going. You’re in danger. Please, we have to go now, “ Ricky pleaded, his voice threatening to crack at every other word. </p><p> </p><p>“I think you might have to get off me first. “</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, you’re right. “</p><p> </p><p>With one swift motion, Ricky swung his left leg over Tinsley and climbed off the bed. He then held out a lightly trembling hand, which Tinsley grabbed hesitantly as a crutch to heave himself off the stretcher. Pain seared through his left shoulder like a forest ablaze. Tinsley winced and bit his lip, but pressed on. To the best of his ability, they hurried off to the exit door, at which point Ricky peeked his head out of the room. </p><p> </p><p>“Corridor’s clear, “ he whispered in a hushed tone. </p><p> </p><p>They carefully tiptoed through the dimly lit hallway. Tinsley glanced at Ricky, whose furtive gaze continued to scan their surroundings. It seemed as though they were still in the hospital. But why was Ricky so keen on leaving? </p><p> </p><p>“Ricky, what- “</p><p> </p><p>“Shh! “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley whimpered against the gentle, yet forceful touch of Ricky’s index on his lips. His ears flushed, but he scarcely had the time to register the happenings in the moment, because Ricky then grabbed his right sleeve, dragged him into some unidentified room and shut the door behind them. Both men remained in a tense and heavy silence as a wave of murmurs passed by the door. </p><p> </p><p>“Probably nurses, “ Ricky muttered under his breath. </p><p> </p><p>“Ricky, just what in the world is going on here? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky lowered his gaze. </p><p> </p><p>“You were brought here after you got shot, “ he finally replied, quietly. “The nurses tried to hook you on a large dose of heroin. I overheard them talk about it, so I yanked the IV bag off before they could start it. They must be in your room wondering what the <em>fuck</em> is going on right now. Listen, Tinsley, whatever’s going on in this hospital is sketchy as hell. Judging from their conversation, I don’t think they had any intention to treat you. “</p><p> </p><p>“Why would they want to hook me on- “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley looked around the room, and got his answer before he even finished his question. This was no ordinary patient room. </p><p> </p><p>This was a dimly lit office room, with DOCTOR FEAR engraved in cold silver on the door. Dozens of papers bestrewed the large wooden desk before them. </p><p> </p><p>“… Tinsley? What are you doing? “</p><p> </p><p>Trembling, Tinsley approached the desk, and picked up a small, black leathered booklet. A small golden lock pierced the edge of the smooth cover, but appeared to be open. </p><p> </p><p>Carefully, Tinsley opened the booklet. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>April 14th, 1951. Englewood, diacetylmorphine, xx milligrams, $xxx. Grand crossing, hydromorphone, xx milligrams, $xxx. Riverdale, dextroamphetamine, xx milligrams… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Drug transactions. That's... a lot, for a given area. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Unless...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley stumbled back. Ricky got up from the door, and joined him. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s going on here- “</p><p> </p><p>The words remained caught in Ricky’s throat as Ricky’s eyes landed on the desk, widening in shock. Tinsley followed Ricky’s gaze, and found more than suspicious drug deals. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, it was <em>far</em> worse. </p><p> </p><p>A panel of photos were scattered on the polished wood surface, almost like a bouquet; the faces were circled and crossed off, like a grocery list of sorts. And in the midst of that unfamiliar crowd, Tinsley found himself sitting in his office, right beside the smiling visage of Robert Goldsworth and the crossed off eyes of Lucy Goldsworth.</p><p> </p><p>The red circle that sliced across Tinsley's neck made his blood run cold, and chills ran through his spine. He swore he could also hear an audible “that son of a bitch” on Ricky’s side. It certainly was a lot to digest, but unfortunately footsteps were shuffling in the hallway closer and closer, which meant that time was not a luxury they could afford. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, “ Ricky cursed. “Hey, Tins, think you can trust me here? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. “Uh, why? “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to need you to jump off this window with me. “</p><p> </p><p>“Are you nuts? We’re going to die- “</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not going to die, we’re on the second floor. Are you in or not? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley opened his mouth to protest, but the footsteps got louder and louder, until they could both hear the angry voices of whoever walked beyond that door. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sighed. “I guess I don’t really have a choice here. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky flashed a small smile. Tinsley could still see the glimmer in his misty, wide eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Then they heard the doorknob turn. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky rushed to grab Tinsley’s clammy right hand, and his heel landed onto the window pane as he gave it a firm kick. The window flew open when they heard the hostile shouts of nurses hurrying in their direction, and they quickly leapt out. Tinsley hugged his knees tightly as he braced for impact. </p><p> </p><p>Fortunately, they landed on soft soil; unfortunately, Tinsley’s shoulder was still stinging, and it took him everything to ignore the burning pain as Ricky pulled him up. </p><p> </p><p>They ran, and they ran, and they ran, until they were in the hospital parking lot, at which point Tinsley began to sprint for the bushes. Ricky quickly followed suit, and they hid behind the thick branches as they heard distant shouts. And just as Tinsley waited out Darla, they waited out the hospital staff, until the shouts and footsteps were no more. </p><p> </p><p>It was then that Ricky met Tinsley’s gaze with a completely neutral affect, and said: “I’m going to kill that motherfucker. ”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>send kudos to sponsor tinsley's cardio workout</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Good Team</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: drugs mention</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Listen, Ricky, why don’t we calm down first- “</p><p> </p><p>“I AM CALM! “ </p><p> </p><p>“No you’re not! “ Tinsley interjected. “You’re clenching your fists, and you only do that when you’re mad. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s words caught in his throat, and he turned to stare at Tinsley, mouth agape. </p><p> </p><p>“Since when do you know me so well?! “</p><p> </p><p>“It wasn’t my intention, “ Tinsley replied dryly. “But I can’t help but pick up things when I have to see your disastrous face every other day. “</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t see each other every other day- “</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn't matter. Now, how about we tuck away the murder card for a bit and examine the facts- “</p><p> </p><p>“What facts, Tinsley?? “ Ricky cried out. “You <em>saw</em> it back there. He fucking did it. I’m sure he’s the one who ordered the hit on her. What are we waiting for?! “ </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley gazed absently at the bushes that stood before them. He looked either in pain or in deep thought. Or both.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just surprised that Dr. Fear would do it, of all people. He seemed like such a kind and well-spoken man; a pillar of the community, they called him, “ Tinsley said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>“Pillar of the community my ass, “ Ricky scoffed bitterly. He was practically spitting out the words. “<em>Sure</em>, he’s the city’s top doctor. What else, Tinsley? Is that supposed to excuse him from his crimes? “ </p><p> </p><p>“I mean- “</p><p> </p><p>“Would you excuse me for my crimes? I’m the <em>mayor’s son</em>, after all. Don’t you think that in itself would send a wave of shock through the town? “</p><p> </p><p>The question came out against Ricky's better judgment, before Ricky could even answer it himself. </p><p> </p><p>Would Tinsley excuse him? Did he even want to know? Why should he care? Why did he even ask that question in the first place? </p><p> </p><p>Ricky's chest tightened, and he could feel his stomach churn with unease. </p><p> </p><p>“… No, “ Tinsley said after a pause, and shook his head. “I wouldn’t. Crime is crime. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky winced at Tinsley’s words, but because he had a point to prove, he decided to schedule that emotion at a later moment. </p><p> </p><p>“He <em>killed</em> my mother, Tinsley. He bloody did it- Did you see the photograph? That’s a hit list right there- that’s a bloody hit list! He’s killed my mother, and now he’s after my dad, and you! Christ, do you not care about what happens to you? "</p><p> </p><p>"Not really, " Tinsley muttered tonelessly.</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, <em>fine</em>, he deals drugs, worse comes to worst, <em>whatever</em>. But I heard the gunshots and the next thing I knew, you were limping away from Darla like you were mortally injured- “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not mortally injured- “</p><p> </p><p>“-fuck you, you sure look the part, " Ricky cut Tinsley abruptly. "And then Dr. Fear swanned in and scooped you into his sketchy hospital. Are you some kind of idiot or what? Darla has the <em>staff keys</em>! Don’t you think they’d be of the same gang? What were you even thinking going in there?! “</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell did you want me to do? I was unconscious! “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, pass out elsewhere? <em>Fuck,</em> Tins, do you even know how much of a hassle it was for me to climb into your goddamn ward?! I could’ve just left you there and you’d be <em>dead</em> by now! “</p><p> </p><p>“That <em>has</em> to be an exaggeration- “</p><p> </p><p>“No it’s not! “ Ricky exclaimed, his voice bordering on fury. He could feel the strong urge to clench his fist, but made the conscious decision not to, because then he’d be proving Tinsley’s point, which was something Ricky most definitely didn’t want to do. “Do you even <em>know</em> what they were saying while you were knocked out cold? They were going to give you the <em>lethal dose</em>! "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley froze for a second, before slowly turning his head towards Ricky, wide-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>But instead of giving Tinsley the chance to retort, Ricky pressed on. "I overheard the nurses, and I saw your IV bag. It's heroin, and it's enough to knock out a dozen horses. They want you <em>dead</em>, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Tinsley blinked. </p><p> </p><p><em>Finally coming to your senses, dipshit</em>, Ricky thought, and sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“To think my father treated him so well, “ he muttered humourlessly. He could feel his boiling blood coming down to a low, grudging simmer. “Invited him to every city gathering, adorned him with honourary prizes, provided his hospital with good funding… “</p><p> </p><p>“He doesn’t even seem like the kind of person who could hurt a fly, “ Tinsley commented. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. All we hear is stories of his ‘all-encompassing’, sickening altruism, “ Ricky agreed. There was a bitterness to his voice. “I don’t know what he has against my momma, nor my father. I don’t even know how <em>you</em>’ve come to aggravate him, but I’m done losing people. My momma was gone too soon, and if he gets my father too, I think I might lose it, Tins. They don’t deserve any of this, we have to stop him before any of you are in danger- “</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, “ Tinsley hummed. “Surely murder can’t be the first solution, can it? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky frowned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He already knew what Tinsley was up to, and it was already getting on his nerves.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re going to suggest jail, aren’t you? “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the least harmful way, Ricky, “ Tinsley pleaded gently. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re going to get yourself killed, sooner or later, Tinman. The faster we get this over with, the less likely you are to get <em>fucking murked</em> by Dr. Fear. “</p><p> </p><p>“What’s it to you? Wouldn’t that be ideal for you if I die? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened as he met Tinsley’s gaze. Tinsley's eyes were mournful. Tinsley's face was pained. Tinsley's voice was almost pleading. While Ricky did not fully understand the melancholy behind those deep brown eyes, what he knew was that nothing mattered anymore. The thorny bushes did not matter. Ricky’s sore knees did not matter. The cold wind did not matter. It was as though all barriers had been stripped between the two men, and Ricky could see Tinsley through those soft, coffee-coloured pupils. </p><p> </p><p>What troubled Ricky was that Tinsley did not look concerned with his own life <em>at all</em>. Ricky winced at the memory of the long work hours Tinsley would subject himself to. </p><p> </p><p>This wasn’t a man who <em>cared to live. </em></p><p> </p><p>It was then that out came pouring everything Ricky attempted to suppress for the whole evening: a ceaseless stream of feelings, a maelstrom of emotions, and Ricky felt so overwhelmed that it took him everything to grasp the one thought that stood amidst the tempest.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t want to lose C.C. Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>It was a sentence that made no sense to Ricky, because he knew they were bound to turn on each other sooner or later. </p><p> </p><p>But how the hell else could he explain the panicked thrum in his body as he eavesdropped the nurses’ conversation, as he tried desperately to pull Tinsley out of his life-threatening trance, as he dragged Tinsley out of the nurses’ sight? He could feel the hard, quick pulse coursing in his throat, one that hadn’t calmed down since their escape. His voice threatened to crack at every minute, and it took him everything to stop his body from shaking. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky was curious, but <em>this</em> certainly overstepped the bounds of curiosity. </p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck</em>. </p><p> </p><p>The worst part of it all was that he knew exactly what was going on. He didn’t want to lose the first beacon of warmth he’d experienced in months; he’d be devastated. <em>Sure</em>, Tinsley sent no shortage of derogatory statements in his direction, but he was a <em>good detective</em>.</p><p> </p><p>One whom Ricky had unfortunately gotten attached to. </p><p> </p><p>But Ricky knew better than to unleash this storm of embarrassment onto Tinsley, so he instead opted to beat around the bush by rolling his eyes and saying: “Why the hell else would I go on such lengths to pull you out of that wretched hospital? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hummed. He smiled lightly, but it was a sad smile, almost as though it had been held back by the melancholy in his sleepy eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Good work back there, “ he finally managed.</p><p> </p><p>The problem, Ricky thought, was that Ricky and Tinsley <em>made a good team</em>. Ricky knew more than anyone how good teams could go awry. <em>Oh, so many things could go wrong.</em> </p><p> </p><p>He remembered the way Tinsley pushed away the blonde man, and promptly exited the bar without bidding him goodbye. Ricky had felt the clenching within his chest back then, and didn’t even have the heart to tell Tinsley off for pulling <em>another</em> Irish goodbye on him. </p><p> </p><p>He wondered about the moment they became so familiar with each other.</p><p> </p><p>But there were more pressing concerns, so Ricky brushed his thoughts away by resorting to problem-solving. “We should do something about your wound, " he stated. "You’re still bleeding. “</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, uhh, yeah. Right, “ Tinsley said, a slight stutter in his voice. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky scooted closer to Tinsley. “Can you walk? “ he asked, softly. </p><p> </p><p>“I think, yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, Tinsley <em>couldn't</em> walk, according to the deep, wincing frown that emerged on his ashen face as soon as he attempted to stand up, and he quickly brought his hand to support his injured shoulder.</p><p> </p><p><em>What a fucking idiot</em>, Ricky thought, but rushed towards him nevertheless, and held his arm out as an offering. “Here, don’t force it, Tinman. “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine, it’s just the shoulder- “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re bleeding, Tinsley. You’re not fine, “ Ricky insisted — <em>you’re a goddamn idiot, </em>he thought<em>. </em></p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sighed, almost defeatedly, as he leaned onto Ricky and slowly stood up. “I’m not mortally injured, “ he corrected as they began to walk. “I just need something to patch it up. “</p><p> </p><p>“We'll get you some wound gauzes... <em>Fuck</em>, how ironical is it that we’re in the parking lot of a hospital, but we can’t go <em>in</em> the hospital, “ Ricky muttered. </p><p> </p><p>Apparently, Tinsley found the situation funny enough to laugh. “I mean, “ he chuckled. “We could probably go and say my name is Albert. They won’t suspect a thing. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that's going to work, Tinman. "</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know what you're talking about, " Tinsley refuted nonchalantly. "It's done wonders for me. "</p><p> </p><p>"Do you always pull those name stunts with people? “</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes, “ Tinsley replied. “When I think the person might come after me. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky gave him a side-eyed look.</p><p> </p><p>“What? “ Tinsley exclaimed, turning his head to meet Ricky’s gaze. “It’s standard procedure. “</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never heard of that in my entire career as a detective, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“Well, maybe it’s because you’re not a <em>private investigator</em>, “ Tinsley replied, feigning derision. </p><p> </p><p>“I could be if I wanted to, “ Ricky instinctively retorted. </p><p> </p><p>A pause. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, " Tinsley finally let out. "Yeah, you could, “ he repeated, after another beat.</p><p> </p><p>“I still haven’t found out your first name, Tins. “</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t think that was supposed to be a goal of yours. “</p><p> </p><p>“It is, now that you've piqued my curiosity. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley raised an eyebrow. “Do I now? “</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>“Then are you curious enough to investigate Fear- “</p><p> </p><p>“Goddamn it, Tinsley, “ Ricky yelled out in frustration. “FINE, we’ll do it your way, but if he does <em>anything</em> out of line, I am draining the blood out of that guy. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley smiled weakly in silent approbation, which Ricky found to be quite frankly <em>distressing</em> to look at. </p><p> </p><p>The two men walked in silence as Ricky continued to support Tinsley with his shoulder and arm. Tinsley was… surprisingly light for his height, and smelled exactly the way a bloodstained shower-due man would smell. Ricky wrinkled his nose slightly, but between the stench of bad personal hygiene and Tinsley fainting, Ricky knew the choice was easy. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t stop him from deriding Tinsley for it. </p><p> </p><p>“You, sir, are in dire need of a shower. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Affectionate derision. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Probably, yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell do you mean, ‘probably’? Have you no sense of personal hygiene at all? Ever heard of smelling nice? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sighed. “Not everyone owns perfumes, Ricky. Some of us can’t afford things- “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s called a cologne- “</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that the same thing? “</p><p> </p><p>“No it’s not! “ Ricky exclaimed. “You know what, forget it. Just take a damn shower, for heaven’s sake. I can’t stand your bloody stench here. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You know what, just derision. Asswipe deserves no affection. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled. “I guess I will. “ </p><p> </p><p>Another beat of silence. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky shot a quick glance at Tinsley, but his eyes then stayed for the lightly peppered stubbles on Tinsley’s jaw. Come to think of it, Tinsley didn’t look unattractive at all — Ricky was simply too worked up early in their strange partnership to notice. Tinsley’s coffee-coloured eyes exuded sun and moon all at once: the light crinkles at their corners when the man smiled would beam with pure energy, and yet those soft pupils always hinted at something more melancholic. Tinsley’s slightly ruffled hair was <em>atrocious</em> fashion-wise, but it did have a certain charm to it, as though it assumed a life form of its own. </p><p> </p><p>It was also the way Tinsley did everything with extreme gentleness, as though he was constantly holding a bouquet of dried flowers that might brittle down at any given moment. Tinsley would cup his hands around his ceramic mug, as though it had been the most precious possession he ever had. </p><p> </p><p>It was the way Tinsley handled most things with immense respect and kindness that tugged on <em>something</em> within Ricky’s chest, softly. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe Ricky was into C.C. Tinsley. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m just wondering though… Why would you help me out, Ricky? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky flinched, just a little.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean? “ he asked blankly.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, I’m still supposed to catch you. For… you know. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky knew. </p><p> </p><p>But the lifeless corpse that laid at his feet earlier this evening resurfaced in his memory. It had been a fresh kill, one that had been an unexpected opportunity. He felt the clenching within his chest back then, and didn’t have the heart to sign his latest murder. </p><p> </p><p>For the first time in months, he felt… ashamed. </p><p> </p><p>They were bound to turn on each other. That, or he was going to get C.C. Tinsley killed. </p><p> </p><p>But that had been part of their implicit deal since day one. It wasn’t supposed to be a problem, but now it was, and now it upset Ricky. </p><p> </p><p>Only Ricky was spent from an overly eventful evening, and Ricky didn’t want to think about it anymore, so Ricky simply shrugged it off. </p><p> </p><p>“Why not? " he said, swallowing a lump down his throat. "We make a good team, you and I. “</p><p> </p><p><em>An overly upsetting evening,</em> he thought.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>alternative title: ricky was mad. now he's upset</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Tell Me, Tinsley</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: f slur + other homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As it turned out, a gunshot wound was a bitch to heal, but it also paled in comparison to <em>whatever the fuck </em>Ricky Goldsworth awakened in Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t make it easier on him, either, because Ricky barged into his office with a suitcase full of medicinal ointments — although Tinsley was more distracted by the muscular grip that tightened around the handle — and a <em>look</em> that seemed nonchalant and concerned all at once.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine, “ Tinsley had said.</p><p> </p><p><em>Leave me alone</em>, Tinsley had thought.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky did not leave Tinsley alone. In a minute, there were tangled bandages around Tinsley’s still aching shoulder, and in the next Ricky’s unreadable gaze was riveted on Tinsley. The scent of carnations enveloped Tinsley like a familiar mist, and Tinsley’s skin tingled with warmth where Ricky’s steady fingers gently grazed.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley liked to analyze things, so he replayed — for the nth time running — that strange night in which Ricky got him out of Dr. Fear’s hospital. He remembered Ricky following him to the ward, and Ricky straddling him — thank <em>god</em> he was half-conscious — to wake him up, and Ricky hiding him from apparently murderous nurses.</p><p> </p><p><em>“We make a good team, you and I, “ </em>Ricky had said. He wasn’t <em>technically</em> wrong, but Tinsley had found the answer to be upsettingly comforting.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A good team, you say? A serial killer and the detective who’s supposed to catch him?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hated that he couldn’t argue otherwise. They worked together well — infuriatingly so.</p><p> </p><p>The reason — and fundamental issue — behind that, Tinsley realized, was that Ricky wasn’t <em>inherently a bad person</em>. Tinsley could slice the cake in a million different ways, and they would all lead him to the same vexing conclusion. And while Tinsley had made it his personal responsibility to ignore the way his eyes gravitate towards Ricky’s sharply alluring smile, he wasn’t going to put Ricky in the same basket as your run-of-the-mill murderer — now, that’d just be plainly rude.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky did the things he did <em>to protect</em> those he loved.</p><p> </p><p>That in itself didn’t pose a problem, until Tinsley also realized that he didn’t want to catch Ricky anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky's crimes were black-and-white, but his sentence was not; the evidence could tell Tinsley that much. </p><p> </p><p>In terms of evidence, Tinsley hadn’t bothered gathering any as of late, but he could tell when Ricky’s customarily lucid gaze would wander absently at the mere mention of Lucy Goldsworth. He could see when Ricky’s fist would clench, subtly but firmly, when they’d talk about Dr. Fear’s possible plans of murdering both Ricky’s father and Tinsley. He remembered the gruesome list of Ricky’s work, and the even more gruesome crimes perpetrated by the victims. He noticed the absence of White Wolf murders as of late. Tinsley may have ceased to look through evidence, but evidence often lied in small details, and small details came in the form of Ricky looking positively aggravated whenever Darla was in his proximity.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hadn’t looked into the White Wolf case for weeks now, but all evidence pointed to one terrifying conclusion.</p><p> </p><p><em>Ricky doesn’t deserve time</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley came to this distressing conclusion exactly twice in his lifetime, and the first time made him leave the Schaumburg Police Department, which was a massive understatement to the utter disaster that ensued.</p><p> </p><p>Now that Tinsley mentally acquitted a murderer for the second time, he was positive that it did <em>not</em> get better with time. What the <em>hell</em> was he even supposed to do with this information? Quit his job as a private eye? Knock on Holly’s door after weeks of thumb twiddling and heel kicking (which Holly <em>most certainly</em> did notice, judging from her narrow-eyed looks), and face her impassible expression as he foolishly tries to convince her to stop looking into Ricky Goldsworth, simply because an unqualified <em>schmuck</em> like himself said so?</p><p> </p><p>That would be completely unprofessional, and illegal, probably.</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley wasn’t worried about his own outcome. He hadn’t been for eight years now. C.C. Tinsley could end up disfigured in a ditch, and he wouldn’t be all too concerned.</p><p> </p><p>What Tinsley <em>did </em>worry about was Ricky’s outcome, because Tinsley was hired to catch Ricky, and Ricky was a candid and well-intended man who openly loved men and wore his heart on his sleeve, and the killer smile that hung like a bright crescent above his razor-sharp jaw made Tinsley’s chest flutter and Tinsley’s head spin and-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Why can’t you just be normal? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Why couldn’t he? Why was he so invested in Ricky Goldsworth? What gave him the right to stare at the sun kissed man’s immaculate collar like <em>that</em>?</p><p> </p><p>He had no right in doing so. He was a wilted camellia, a <em>filthy degenerate</em>, one who was ruining a perfectly adequate partnership with unholy thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to think about the future. He didn’t want to think about having to turn Ricky in to Holly Horsley, about the oh-so-illustrious Dr. Fear ordering a hit on Ricky before Ricky could get closure on his mother, or, worse, about the dissolution of <em>this</em> when Ricky inevitably finds out as well-</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, Tinsley had someone to lose again.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be. But C.C. Tinsley loved Ricky Goldsworth, and he hated himself for it. It wasn’t even as though Ricky would ever return <em>whatever the fuck it is </em>that Tinsley felt.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was an insane man. Whatever monster lurked within the depths of his conscience was bound to ruin <em>this</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I could kiss you, “ Ricky had said, plainly, on one night of reckless inebriation. It wasn’t the first time they'd come back from some phony cocktail party (for someone who hated social situations with a burning passion, Tinsley subjected himself to them a worrying amount of times). It also wasn't the first time Ricky said something stupid, but it was never <em>this</em> stupid. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley choked on his water. “You <em>what</em>? “</p><p> </p><p>“You heard me right, “ Ricky said. His smooth voice reeked of nonchalance, yet the shameless smirk on his angelic face told a whole other story. “You know, you’re quite the dreamboat, Tinman. You’ve got the looks, the brains, and the patience of a saint. I wonder why there aren’t more ladies courting you, “ he continued, almost pensively.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth may be <em>of his kind</em>, but he was a <em>flirt</em> first and foremost. Which was to say, <em>he can’t be serious about any of this</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>Unlike Tinsley</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“… How am I a saint? Just minutes ago you were yelling at me for preferring cats, “ Tinsley muttered humourlessly.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off, we’ve been over this. Dogs are the superior pet. “</p><p> </p><p>“Dogs are loud, and so are you- “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s words were choked out as he felt his tie slip and tighten around his neck. Ricky had grabbed the end, and Ricky was pulling Tinsley down to his level. Tinsley’s chest fluttered in a way that had become resentfully familiar.</p><p> </p><p>“I could really make <em>short work</em> of you, Tinsley, “ Ricky warned him in a threateningly low voice. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley… remained perfectly still. He didn’t feel threatened. Instead, he stared at Ricky, drinking in the sight before him.</p><p> </p><p>And the sight was <em>gorgeous. </em>Ricky’s breath smelled fruity and floral, and Ricky’s dark eyes were mesmerizing. Ricky’s firm grip on Tinsley’s tie made Tinsley’s breath hitch, and Tinsley's eyes remained riveted on Ricky's beautiful figure, because if this was all that Tinsley could ever get, then <em>so be it</em>. None of this was serious, after all, and C.C. Tinsley wasn’t destined for love.</p><p> </p><p>The shiver came when Ricky began to lightly trace his cheek with his fingertips, and Tinsley froze. </p><p> </p><p>“But we’re digressing here, aren’t we? “ Ricky whispered in a playful voice. “Point is, you’re quite the catch, Tinsley. Stellar professional record, gentlemanly manners that would make anyone swoon, and have I ever told you that you have a <em>look</em> when you have those glasses on? “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re drunk, “ Tinsley diagnosed softly. The warm tightness in his chest was both terrifying and painful. <em>None of this is serious. None of this is serious. None of this is serious none of this is-</em></p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think so, “ Ricky chuckled, his voice smooth as ever. “I am fairly certain I’m lucid at the moment, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p><em>He’s not slurring</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“There it is again, “ Ricky remarked, his voice down to almost a whisper. He studied Tinsley with that familiar, unreadable gaze. “That <em>look</em> of yours. I can never completely decipher it. It looks full of want, yet soft with respect. It keeps fooling me into thinking that you want me. “</p><p> </p><p><em>I do</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me, Tinsley. Do you? “</p><p> </p><p><em>I do,</em> Tinsley thought.</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley also thought of Eleanor’s steel cold gaze, and Wyatt’s starkly indifferent look, and the prying eyes of journalists flocking to him. Tinsley thought of <em>faggot, unnatural, nancy boy, queer, you’re not my son, die, die, die</em>-</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley instinctively shook his head, averting his gaze. When he met Ricky’s widened eyes again, the damage had already been done.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley felt Ricky’s grip loosen, and Ricky’s hand fell to his side.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He looks deflated.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t, “ Ricky stated, quietly.</p><p> </p><p><em>I do</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley didn’t bother correcting Ricky. Why would he? Ricky was a flirt; Ricky wasn’t serious. None of this was serious.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it was better this way.</p><p> </p><p>“I was right in not assuming things, “ Ricky muttered. “After all, you were married, once. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky chuckled halfheartedly. “Well, that was a bit delusional of me. To think that you’re… never mind. “</p><p> </p><p><em>He looks serious</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, no matter who you end up with, “ Ricky added. He gave a light pat on Tinsley’s healthy shoulder. There was something missing in his voice. “You deserve to be loved, Tins. Make sure you remember that. “</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t matter what Tinsley remembered, because Tinsley realized that <em>maybe Ricky also felt the same and maybe he wasn’t kidding and maybe we deserve love too, coward why don’t you just say it? </em></p><p> </p><p>Ricky wasn’t Eleanor. Ricky wasn’t Wyatt. Ricky wasn’t that guy at the bar — Fred? Frank?</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was just… Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley wanted to tell him, desperately, how much he hated himself.</p><p> </p><p>The words remained trapped in his throat, so he hated himself some more.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley stirred <em>something</em> in Ricky, and a <em>whole fuck ton </em>of it.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky knew that. Tinsley may seem like a sharp-tongued, self-righteous bastard, but Ricky had come to see the other side of Tinsley. The side that gently flipped through pages and pages of news articles, long and slender fingers picking up the corners of each time-stained sheet with utmost care. The side that often looked into Ricky’s eyes with a kind, yet mournful gaze, before moving on with a gentle head shake. The side whose smile crinkled at the corners of Tinsley’s heavy-lidded eyes, and made Ricky’s heart swell with golden warmth. The side that worked, every waking hour of Tinsley’s lonely life, on piles upon piles of case files, until Tinsley’s bleary eyes could barely stand behind the thin, wire-framed glasses Ricky had come to recognize as one of Tinsley’s best fashion decisions yet. The side that seemed so careful about the world, yet treated the world with more respect than he did himself.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky had no qualms about admitting that he enjoyed Tinsley’s company at this point. Not after that night at the hospital, where his panicked pulse and uncontrollable shaking had betrayed his own feelings. Not after he dragged himself to C.C. Tinsley’s private office, every day, with a suitcase full of bandages, as if he was Tinsley’s unqualified, self-appointed nurse.</p><p> </p><p>It was… fine. It wasn’t as though Ricky hadn’t had flames here and there. If Ricky really wanted to court someone, he would’ve already done so, because what Ricky wanted, Ricky got.</p><p> </p><p>And that’s exactly what Ricky did. Flirting felt most familiar to him, so Ricky defaulted back to his old habit.</p><p> </p><p>But he approached Tinsley’s shoulder, and heard the thrumming heartbeat that the bullet nearly did not miss. He gently traced Tinsley’s collarbone, and saw Tinsley close his eyes in a wincing frown; he could almost hear the burning pain still echoing within Tinsley. He removed Tinsley’s dressings, and saw the wounded flesh, the same shade of crimson that bloomed beneath his bloodied hands that stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed, until the breath of life expired beneath him.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky would head home every night, only to be dragged out of his restless sleep by Dr. Fear’s eerily warm smile, and Tinsley’s circled photograph, and Tinsley’s exanimate visage.</p><p> </p><p><em>He wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He’s going to get himself killed, sooner or later. That, or he’s going to turn you in for murder.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t want to think about it, so he defaulted back to his old habit. He put on his best smile. He got closer to Tinsley. He gently traced Tinsley’s cheek with the tip of his index.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re quite the catch, C.C. Tinsley. Stellar professional record, gentleman manners that would make anyone swoon, and have I ever told you that you have a <em>look</em> when you have those glasses on? “</p><p> </p><p>Maybe they could make this work. Maybe the countless nights they’ve spent together tracking Darla’s whereabouts were stronger than their hesitations combined. Maybe their stupid arguments over the superior town (Chicago, obviously) could overcome the dangers that loomed upon them.</p><p> </p><p>They made a good team, so why not?</p><p> </p><p>And maybe Tinsley shared his fears, because Tinsley gazed at him tenderly with those coffee-coloured eyes that kept tugging at something in Ricky’s chest. Tinsley looked almost yearnful, almost pleading.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Almost as if he didn’t push that man away in the bar.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“There is is again… That <em>look</em> of yours. I can never completely decipher it. It looks full of want, yet soft with respect. It keeps fooling me into thinking that you want me. “</p><p> </p><p><em>Almost as if he wasn’t married</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky swallowed.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me, Tinsley. Do you? “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do you want me?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky wasn’t drunk. <em>Sure</em>, he had come back from an eventful evening at the cocktail party, but he was certain that the warm, flushed feeling in his cheeks did <em>not</em> persist because of alcohol.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn't drunk. He <em>knew</em> what he was saying.</p><p> </p><p>He <em>knew</em> what he was hoping for.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>But hopes were hopes, and hopes meant nothing when Tinsley shook his head. It came through as a wave crashing into Ricky’s heart, and Ricky felt his limbs go cold.</p><p> </p><p><em>Almost as if he didn’t refuse you, time after time after time</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky softened his grip, and his hand fell to his side.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t, “ he said, voicing his realization out loud. His voice remained low; he didn’t want an unwanted crack to betray his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley remained silent. He looked… afraid.</p><p> </p><p>It should’ve been obvious, but Ricky was an idiot who kept ignoring the blaring signs.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, that was a bit delusional of me. To think that you’re… never mind. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley wasn’t into <strike>Ricky</strike> men.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky had gotten his upsetting answer, time after time after time.</p><p> </p><p>And as much as Ricky liked to default back to his old habit, it was only when the other would reciprocate — which was to say, all the time. Tinsley had been the first to turn Ricky down, and as it turned out, unsolicited flirting felt simply… wrong. That wasn’t courtship anymore. And while Ricky was no stranger to crime, he drew the line at sexual harassment.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Especially with a gentleman such as C.C. Tinsley.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You deserve to be loved, Tins, “ Ricky had told Tinsley dryly. He meant it, because Tinsley could’ve simply fucked off and turned him in. But Tinsley didn’t do that, because Tinsley was a kind soul who didn’t judge him, except for that time he almost purchased a Pekingese puppy just to spite the cat-loving detective — “you can’t just go around and buy a pet if you’re not going to take care of it, “ Tinsley had scolded him. Somehow, Tinsley lured Ricky back into the world of investigation, and Ricky wasn’t all too upset with it.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley would probably get himself killed at this rate. But he didn’t deserve death, Ricky thought.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley deserved the world.</p><p> </p><p>But perhaps the world wasn’t Ricky Goldsworth.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky stopped killing after that night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi, welcome to pain</p><p>started writing, had a mental breakdown. </p><p>bon appetite.</p><p>yours truly, midnight blue</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Crimson Tendrils</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: graphic depictions of violence/death, and from now on you can probably assume internalized homophobia for the foreseeable future lmao</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ricky’s murderous hiatus didn’t last long.</p><p> </p><p><em>In his defense</em>, he did it in self-defense — or rather, just plain defense. As it turned out, Ricky far preferred C.C. Tinsley to be alive. That in itself was a strange thing to admit — two months ago, Ricky would’ve sold Tinsley for a singular corn chip — but now wasn’t the time to mull over the lability of his relationship with C.C. Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>To be fair, <em>murder </em>hadn’t been part of Ricky’s plans for the evening. But Ricky didn’t have a choice, because the clock struck nine and Tinsley was nowhere to be found — which was alarming, considering the man’s clockwork punctuality.</p><p> </p><p>The natural thing to do then was to conduct a one-man search party for Tinsley, which Ricky did by driving frantically around the city like his car lost its brakes after a particularly frustrated foot stomp. He glanced furtively at the nooks and crannies of each street and alley Tinsley could’ve walked, and flinched at the slightest movement, before cursing himself for his own involuntary reactivity. Ricky clenched his fists around the steering wheel, there was a lump in his throat, and his heart raced probably faster than the rapidly waving windshield wipers.</p><p> </p><p>He could feel the colour and warmth drain from his own face when his eyes finally landed on a familiar tall figure in an alley. Ricky hit the brakes and bolted out of his seat, because Tinsley was against the wall, and two guns were trained on him. Ricky heard the click of the safety go off, and his mind went blank as he unsheathed the knife in one swift motion, out of his inner pocket, and into that <em>back, back, back, back-</em></p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Swirls.</p><p> </p><p>That’s the next thing Ricky knew.</p><p> </p><p>Swirls and filaments of crimson poured into the shallow puddles beneath him, and darkened them. Earlier screams of agony had been replaced by the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the hard, concrete ground. Ricky’s shirt and waistcoat were drenched, and stuck to his skin with a soothingly cool feeling as thin droplets slowly made their way down his soaked sleeve towards the tip of his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>Beneath Ricky lied two dead bodies, and before Ricky stood a wide-eyed Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky… “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s heart had stopped pounding against his chest. Ricky’s hand had stopped shaking. Ricky’s breath was steady, and his eyes lazily gazed at the lifeless corpses that bestrew the alley floor, heavy with the weight of the lives he just reaped.</p><p> </p><p>Before Tinsley could even approach him, Ricky made a run for it.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, Ricky! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky wasn’t listening. Ricky jumped into the driver’s seat, and started the ignition with a click of the key. Ricky drove, and drove, and drove, until he reached XX Lake. Ricky stepped out of the car, and drank in the sight of burgeoning leaves lulling themselves to sleep on the cherry tree branches that watched serenely over the mirror lake.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky felt… calm, strangely.</p><p> </p><p>After all, it didn’t matter what Tinsley would say. What <em>did</em> matter was the way Tinsley’s eyes would crinkle when Tinsley laughed as a blinding sun, the way Tinsley would smile gently as he greeted his kitten with the most tender of gazes, and the way Tinsley would lightly scratch his rough stubbles with his long and slender fingers, as his brows furrowed at the sight of a case photograph. What mattered was the tidal rise and fall of Tinsley’s chest, the one that reassured Ricky that <em>yes, </em>Tinsley was alive and well.</p><p> </p><p>What mattered was the way Tinsley worked through cases with surgical precision, the way he gathered evidence in a systematic and exhaustive fashion, and the way his career as the Sharp Eye could blossom into something Ricky never could attain. It was the way Tinsley taunted his opponents in the bluntest, yet most calculated fashion, that aimed to hurt them at their very core; it took Ricky forever to figure out that it was all strategic, and that Tinsley wasn't actually insane. <em>He’s going to get killed sooner or later</em>, Ricky thought, and kept thinking.</p><p> </p><p>It was the way Tinsley exacted leniency upon Ricky’s twisted world, and unpromptedly extended his hand to Ricky, inviting the latter back into a world Ricky could never return to. It was the way Tinsley <em>willingly </em>cooperated with him, a serial killer, when they were supposed to turn on each other.</p><p> </p><p>They were <em>bound</em> to turn on each other.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky swallowed, but the lump in his throat would not dissipate. There was an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley deserved the world.</p><p> </p><p>But perhaps the world didn’t include Ricky Goldsworth.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Life was decidedly <em>not</em> on Tinsley’s side.</p><p> </p><p>It all started with simple internal documents. Holly had given Tinsley access to the files, and it didn’t take long before Tinsley found out about Banjo’s former job. Presumably, someone had followed him to the archives room, because Tinsley soon landed himself in a rainy alley, cornered by two men in suits, rifles aimed at his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>And then came Ricky Goldsworth.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley watched the carnage. He watched as Ricky plunged his golden knife, time after time after time, into the two men’s backs as they groaned and screamed and begged for mercy. He watched blood splatter against the puddles of rain, and the light shortly exit from the men’s rolled eyes.</p><p> </p><p>He watched as Ricky stood amidst the massacre, vest doused in rain, blood still dripping from his blade.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t smile. Ricky didn’t laugh.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky looked… sullen. <em>Devastated</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky… “</p><p> </p><p>This wasn’t the face of a serial killer.</p><p> </p><p>This was just the face of someone who protected his people.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, Ricky! “</p><p> </p><p>Someone who protected people he cherished, at all costs.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley ran, and ran, and ran. He couldn’t catch his breath, and his heart was flying at a hundred miles an hour.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky was nowhere to be found.</p><p> </p><p>“Not again, “ Tinsley cursed, and stopped.</p><p> </p><p>He walked back to the alley, and thought of Ricky’s full-bodied laughter. He picked up the handle from the telephone booth, and thought of Ricky’s unrestrained weeping over his late mother. Tinsley dialled the CPD’s number, and thought of Ricky’s dark eyes staring back at him, wide with worry, irises pinpoint with panic.</p><p> </p><p>“Chicago Police, what’s your emergency? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley thought of Ricky’s averted gaze, and his <em>serious, deflated look</em>, and <em>you deserve to be loved.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Detective Tinsley speaking. I’m calling to report two deaths, “ he spoke in a toneless voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Your current address, detective? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley thought of Ricky’s steady hand firmly grabbing his sleeve, and yanking him into Dr. Fear’s room, away from the nurses, and <em>you deserve to be loved</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m in an alley, close to the intersection between X and Y streets. “</p><p> </p><p>“Dispatching officers now. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley thought of Ricky’s angelic face, how it was devoid of pride and joy as Ricky’s dark eyes stared down at the two men’s bodies, their faces ashen and haggard.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You deserve to be loved.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The officers soon arrived, and began to tape the alley. Fortunately, it hadn’t been Banjo’s team.</p><p> </p><p>One of the officers began to ask Tinsley questions. But Tinsley’s mind remained far off.</p><p> </p><p>No matter how hard he thought about it, all roads led to Rome.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You deserve to be loved.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky protected him.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley thought of the words that remained trapped in his throat, and the churning pit of self-resentment in his stomach grew.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t show up to their meetings for the next few days.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had tried everything at this point. He ran after Ricky’s car that night, but in return only received the cold splatter of rain in his face. He dropped by the Goldsworth mansion, only to be greeted by the maid who sheepish told him, “Mr. Goldsworth isn’t here at the moment. “ He returned to the mansion, only to receive a similarly vague response. He called the mayor — no clue. He visited the graveyard — empty. He searched XX Lake — nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, the pale moonlight stared back at Tinsley, distant and mercurial.</p><p> </p><p>Unsurprisingly, Holly was furious over the two bodies he’d called in that night; he’d claimed self-defense, and all evidence pointed towards that conclusion as well. Holly scolded him nevertheless — “I expected you to investigate the White Wolf, not to hog graveyard space. “</p><p> </p><p>But none of it mattered, because Tinsley kept thinking about Ricky Goldsworth. <em>Why is this happening again? Where is he? Is he okay? Why did he protect me? Why did he ask me that? Will he be gone too? I should’ve told him. I should have told him.</em></p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hated himself. He hated himself for even <em>comparing</em> Ricky to Eleanor, and Ricky to Wyatt. Never in a million years would Eleanor and Wyatt protect him. Never in a million years would they love him.</p><p> </p><p>This… was different.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The silence went on for a few days, until there was a knock on Tinsley’s door.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley opened it, and found a familiar figure standing before him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, “ came Ricky’s smooth, yet toneless voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, “ Tinsley greeted back.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced down at Ricky; it was as though nothing had changed. Ricky was well-dressed — as usual. Ricky’s black hair was sleek — as usual. Ricky’s jawline was razor sharp — as usual.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s dark eyes were unreadable — as usual.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing had changed, only Tinsley had a million different things to say to Ricky — or rather, ask Ricky. <em>Where have you been? What have you done? Why me? Why now? Why did you do it? Is it what I think it is? What are you going to do now?</em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure you have questions, “ came Ricky's voice, smooth yet hesitant. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley scratched the nape of his neck. “… Yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>But the sight of Ricky’s angelic face was enough to make Tinsley throw all of his festering questions out of the window.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley… just wanted to be. He wanted to drink in the sight before him, and commit it to memory.</p><p> </p><p>And it seemed like Ricky wanted to do the same, because Ricky then said: “I, uh, have a couple of tickets to the town carnival. "</p><p> </p><p>A heavy pause.</p><p> </p><p>"I want you to come with me, “ Ricky added quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley nodded gently. Both men averted their gazes, but Tinsley heard the words that neither of them spoke out.</p><p> </p><p><em>Let’s just enjoy this moment. Take it as it is</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“This Sunday, six o’clock, XX park. Consider it a breather, something between friends, unless you want it to be a date, although I doubt you do. I’ll leave that up to you, Tinman. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and his ears. But the customary <em>this isn’t a date</em> he’d throw at Ricky never came, because he knew that his clammy hands and thrumming heart begged to differ.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted this to be a <em>date</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But he didn’t find the courage to say it out loud, and Ricky was out of the door before he could say anything.</p><p> </p><p>He hated himself for it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"we, uh, we need a murder, " i said as i struggled to write this chapter</p><p> </p><p>send kudos to sponsor tinsley's cardio workout</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. I Liked It (And I Like You)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: f slur, other homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia</p><p>a/n: i have to say that i'm in love with those of you who live-comment my chapters, thank you so much for the overwhelming support!!! &lt;3 </p><p>consider this as my gift of gratitude :D no, there's no tinsley workout/spa (yet), but maybe equally as good? let me know  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tinsley showed up half an hour early.</p><p> </p><p>He dressed to the nines, and by that he meant that he ironed his shirt and combed his unruly hair. He even bought a new, coffee-coloured coat for good measure, something he hadn't done in a very long time.</p><p> </p><p>"I thought you owned nothing but that moth-eaten coat of yours, " Ricky commented, his eyebrows raised. There was a look to his face.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, cut it out, " Tinsley grumbled.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky laughed it out, and shrugged. "It suits you. Matches your eyes. "</p><p> </p><p>A warm feeling swelled within Tinsley's chest; Tinsley chose not to think about it too much.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, uhh. Thanks, " he managed.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced at Ricky. Ricky himself didn't look bad at all — felt hat and gold accented tie and leather timepiece at the wrist — but the thing is, Ricky <em>always</em> looked good. It was as though it had been a constant through the motions of time: dashing smile, silky smooth voice, impeccable fashion sense. And those dark eyes had a look to them. Curious. Something amiss.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky averted his gaze. Then he smiled.</p><p> </p><p>"Let's fuck this place up, shall we? "</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>They didn't fuck the place up.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, Ricky shot a fiery glare in Tinsley's direction. "The fuck is that supposed to mean? " he said. His voice was threateningly low, but it was also muffled by half a bite of cotton candy and the joyous sound of circus trumpets playing in the background.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled, and shrugged. "It's just that I didn't take you for a cotton candy type of guy. "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky gave him a look.</p><p> </p><p>"You have an unhealthy obsession with <em>pie</em>, need I remind you. "</p><p> </p><p>"Pie is a normal adult treat, whereas lollipops and cotton candy are not, " Tinsley pointed out. "You're the only grown man who enjoy any of these on a regular basis, and I'm beginning to think that you might just be the sum of three kids in a trench coat at this point. "</p><p> </p><p>"And I'm beginning to think that your head doesn't look good on your shoulders anymore, you piece of shit, " Ricky retorted. Then he held out the cloud of blueberry pastel to Tinsley. "Here. You're not allowed to slander cotton candy unless you've tried it. “</p><p> </p><p>"Ricky, I <em>know</em> what cotton candy tastes like- "</p><p> </p><p>"Try it, “ Ricky insisted, his tone unwavering sending a light shiver down Tinsley’s spine.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley carefully eyed the sky-coloured candy floss, and sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“… You have a bad habit of sharing your food. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had never shared his food with anyone before.</p><p> </p><p>“How is that a bad habit? “ Ricky asked, and raised an eyebrow. “Sharing is caring, haven’t you heard? Friends share cotton candy all the time! “</p><p> </p><p>“Never heard of that one. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em>come on now</em>, “ Ricky sighed, rolling his eyes. “Look, if you don’t want to munch on the part I bit in, take it from here, “ he said, directing Tinsley’s hand towards the untouched corner of the fluffy sweet. Tinsley’s fingers tingled lightly where Ricky’s landed.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced around; there was no one in their proximity, save for a couple of passerby. He focused back on the cotton candy, and on Ricky’s expecting gaze. Tinsley gulped.</p><p> </p><p><em>Friends share cotton candy all the time</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that</em>, Tinsley chanted to himself as he took a deep breath and picked off a piece from Ricky’s cone.</p><p> </p><p><em>It doesn’t have to mean anything</em>, Tinsley told himself as a calming mantra, as he hesitantly brought the candy fluff to his lips.</p><p> </p><p>It felt like fireworks melting on his tongue, where the sparks were replaced by a mild sweetness that embraced his very core. Its texture resembled the gentle thawing of snow, and the burgeoning of cherry tree leaves. It tasted like the blooming of a dozen small flowers — the blooming of carnations.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley felt a comforting breeze brush against his skin. Suddenly he was a child again, gazing at the cloud of wonders with awe while a slightly older boy smiled at him fondly.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Knew you would like it, “ the boy chuckled</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley wasn’t a child, and the other boy wasn’t here. Tinsley was 30 years old, and he stared back at a smirking Ricky, who remained silent but whose smug look screamed “I told you so.”</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley felt the urge to laugh and to tell Ricky how the soft tendrils of cotton blue danced on his tongue in gently weaved steps.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice sugar whispers, “ was what came out of his mouth instead.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky snorted. “Don’t lie, you liked it. I can tell. “</p><p> </p><p>“How are you so sure? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky shrugged, a smug smile across his face. “You looked up. Last time you did that, you were marvelling over that Earl Grey pie. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley noted the warmth that grew within his chest.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Since when did he remember details like that?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley noted the mild sweetness that lingered on his tongue, and the faint scent of carnations that enveloped the air as a gentle mist. He noted the cheerful trumpet melodies that danced with the distant laughters of children running around the merry-go-round. He drunk in the sight of Ricky’s soft, dark eyes meeting his gaze, where filaments of blue candy floss still hung at the corner of his peach-coloured lips.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley felt the urge to reach Ricky’s cheek, and wipe the rebel threads from Ricky’s lip corner.</p><p> </p><p>But he resisted the tingly feeling within, and shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“I liked it, yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t mention what else he liked.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley was tall, but not tall enough to look down on Chicago's rooftops.</p><p> </p><p>Shades of orange, coral, and marigold tinted the once cyan sky as the dying sun slowly fell, leaving twinkling stars in its stead. Skyscrapers and historic buildings intertwined with the crossed overhead wires of trolleybuses and the green foliage of rejuvenated trees, forming a tangled web below.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley lightly drummed the metal surface below him in a series of staccato taps. The rest of his body remained perfectly immobile in his seat as he shot furtive glances at Ricky, trying his very best to focus on the city view beneath.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had never been on a ferris wheel before.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky, on the other hand, had been. It showed, because Ricky’s arm laid casually on the edge of their cabin, and Ricky eyed Tinsley with a raised eyebrow from the seat across Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>“First time riding the sky, Tinman? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. He gazed back at Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>In any other circumstances, Tinsley would've given anything to wipe that stupid smirk off of Ricky's face.</p><p> </p><p>But not this time. This time, the stunning scenery got the better of him (or so he'd tell himself).</p><p> </p><p>“… Yeah, “ Tinsley breathed. “I guess. “</p><p> </p><p>“Scared? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s smooth voice came out tempting, teasing.</p><p> </p><p>“Not really… It’s just… “ Tinsley hesitated, his mind wandering off to the fiery and bright colours of dusk. “It’s beautiful. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Beautiful, just like the bright crescent that is your sharp smile. Fierce, just like the shine of your dark eyes ablaze. Assertive, just like the way you’d tell me off for the most stupid of reasons. Assertive, just like the way you’d approach me in the most daring of ways.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ever-shifting, just like your intentions.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It is, “ Ricky commented quietly. He cleared his throat. “It’s not as though I come here all the time either. I don’t think I’ve dragged anyone here with me before. You’re my first victim, “ he said, winking playfully.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley snorted. “Soothing words from the White Wolf killer. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em>come on now, “</em> Ricky rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to admit it, you liked it. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could feel the warm feeling wash through him and flush through the tip of his ears. He met Ricky’s heavy-lidded gaze; Ricky was smiling ear-to-ear, arms and legs completely uncrossed. Ricky’s attention was entirely focused on Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley swallowed, and thought of the blooms of crimson growing in the disturbed puddles of that alley. He thought of Ricky’s sullen face, and Ricky’s absence. He thought of gunfire, screams, and the incessant clicks and flashes of news-hungry journalists. He thought of <em>faggot, nancy boy, queer, die, die, die, we deserve love too, you deserve love. </em>He thought of Ricky’s dejected expression that night after the cocktail party, and the words that he hadn’t said then, and didn’t say now.</p><p> </p><p><em>Let’s just enjoy this moment. Take it as it is</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“I liked it. “</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t mention <strike>who</strike> what else he liked.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“About <em>fucking</em> time those trees bloomed. I was getting tired of looking at watered down North Pole all the time. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley gazed at the freshly sprouted leaves that decorated the trees of XX Lake. They were lime-coloured, with a light shade and faint shine that reflected their hesitant, yet beaming youth. They swayed easily under the gentle motions of the rustling breeze.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, “ Tinsley replied, quietly. “It’s… pretty. “</p><p> </p><p>“Told you it’s prettier in colour. “</p><p> </p><p>“I never said it wasn’t prettier, “ Tinsley refuted, raising his hands defensively. “I just said that brown and grey are colours. “</p><p> </p><p>“Are you going to bone-pick my phrases the whole way back? Because I could paint your brown coat red if I want. Really going to make the colours pop, “ Ricky threatened. His tone was low, but Tinsley knew better than to perceive danger from it.</p><p> </p><p>“You wouldn’t do shit to me. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky wouldn’t harm someone he’d protect.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right, “ Ricky sighed. “Listen, if you’re going to be this insufferable, I might have to just walk home alone, “ he added with a sly smile. “Leave the annoying sack of limbs in the park. “</p><p> </p><p>A silence. Tinsley was… speechless.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley might harm Ricky if he kept going like this.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But he thought of Ricky’s deflated face that night, and the words he never said. He thought of <em>we deserve love too, you deserve love</em>, and clenched his fists to chase away the memories of years past.</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck memories</em>. Granted, they protected Tinsley, and served him for many years. But Tinsley didn’t need protection right now, because he saw Ricky’s dejected look from nights past, and- <em>fuck</em>, why did it even matter anymore? Ricky was Ricky; that was all that mattered. This was all Tinsley’s fault, and if only he’d just-</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll, uh, I'll walk you home. “</p><p> </p><p><em>If only I’d just said it</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened a little, but in a good way — the way that seemed like the lighting of a softly glowing candle. He chuckled lightly, but Tinsley could faintly hear a missing beat to it.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, if you insist, Tinman the gentleman. “</p><p> </p><p>"Don't call me that. "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky chuckled. They stepped out of the grassy ground, street lamps throwing their soft shadows onto the concrete sidewalk. Tinsley noted the faint, familiar scent of carnations, and the blinking of Ricky’s unwavering dark eyes. He noted the proximity of Ricky’s left hand, and the mere inch that separated the tip of their pinkies.</p><p> </p><p>Hand holding wasn’t something Tinsley was used to — if anything, Tinsley was <em>terrified</em> of it. It meant the breaching of boundaries, and the outpour of emotions into something way beyond the realms of friendship. It meant guns, screaming, and the clicks and flashes of feckless journalists who would flock to him for a morsel of drama they’d pen into the daily paper. It meant risk that Tinsley couldn’t afford, not for anyone.</p><p> </p><p>But the sidewalk was empty, save for the two of them. Tinsley glanced at Ricky’s relaxed hand as it swayed with Ricky’s walking. He felt the urge to reach out to Ricky’s hand, to hold it. He felt the tingling at the tips of his fingers, and the warmth fluttering through his stomach. He wanted to bridge the gap between them, no matter the questions he had, no matter the words he hadn’t said, no matter the distant future-</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley remembered guns, screaming, and a bloodied face he’d never forget, and he shook his head. He let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in.</p><p> </p><p>He hated his own inner workings.</p><p> </p><p>He hated it, because he <em>knew</em> Ricky cared, he <em>knew</em> Ricky wanted him. He <em>knew</em> his own want, and hated how stupid his own thoughts were.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>Not Eleanor, nor Wyatt.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was better than that. Ricky was the one who stirred something within Tinsley, for the first time in eight years, and made him doubt the destiny of things.</p><p> </p><p><em>You deserve love</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he could go against the course of destiny.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he could tell Ricky about it all.</p><p> </p><p>But he didn’t, and it didn’t take long before they arrived at the Goldsworth gates.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, thanks for the company, Tins, “ Ricky said. He flashed a small, restrained smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no, thank you… “ Tinsley replied, before stumbling on his words. “Uhh. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened slightly. There was a light glimmer in his pupils.</p><p> </p><p>Even in pain and expectation, Ricky looked beautiful, Tinsley thought.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Now’s the time to say it. Now’s the time to say it. Now’s the time to say it now’s the time-</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Faggot</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“The breather, “ Tinsley blurted out. “I mean- “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, you don’t have to, Tins, “ Ricky cut in, his voice quiet and low. “I know you’re stressed. Consider this a mere breather from all of your hard work, yeah? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley saw the dejected look on Ricky’s face, and heard the words Ricky did not speak out.</p><p> </p><p><em>Let’s just enjoy this moment. Take it as it is</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Good night, Tinsley. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley swallowed, and nodded slowly as Ricky turned the key inside the metal gate, and disappeared into the garden.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for the night… I liked it, “ Tinsley whispered to himself.</p><p> </p><p><em>I like you</em>, he thought, and swore he'd say out loud the next time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Good Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: mental illness (only for one metaphor, better safe than sorry i guess)</p><p>also, next chapter drops next monday (more explanations at the end of the chapter), so read at your own risk!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, Tinsley woke up to the sound of footsteps shuffling under his bedroom floor. For a man who never received guests (with the exception of Ricky Goldsworth, whom Tinsley knew wouldn’t knock on his door right now because it’s <em>eight in the morning), </em>it was decidedly an odd occurrence, so Tinsley clambered out of his bed and dragged himself downstairs. What awaited him was an office emptier than he remembered, his belongings packed in a couple of suitcases, and an unceremonious eviction notice floating across his now bare-surfaced desk. Buddy’s tail peaked out of an empty shelf, which meant that the kitten was stressed, which made sense because a bunch of suited men were rummaging busily around the room, and some guy was standing in the middle of the whole debacle like he owned the place.</p><p> </p><p>“… What are you doing? “ Tinsley appropriately blurted out.</p><p> </p><p>The man in the middle — presumably the ringleader — turned around. “You’re the occupant of this unit? You’re being evicted, effective right now, “ he announced dryly.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. He couldn’t tell if this was a joke or not, but it certainly ruffled his feathers and confused him in equal parts.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re kidding, right? “</p><p> </p><p>“What part of this makes you think I’m kidding? “</p><p> </p><p>“What gives you the right? “</p><p> </p><p>The ringleader gave him a side-eyed look. “What gives <em>me</em> the right? I’m Henry Davis, the <em>owner</em> of this building. I’ve had the courtesy of packing your things for you, but now I’m considering just kicking you out. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley gulped.</p><p> </p><p>Turns out the guy who walked around like he owned the place, <em>did</em> <em>in fact</em>, own the place.</p><p> </p><p>“But why am I being evicted? “ Tinsley pressed on, in a mixture of confusion and panic. He could feel his jaw tense up and the pulse in his neck grow stronger. “I’m not supposed to be. “</p><p> </p><p>“Early termination of your lease, “ Henry answered tersely. “I expect you to be out by nine. Pack your bags upstairs as well. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley pressed his lips in a thin line. He could feel a wave of ire begin to boil in his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“But why is my lease being terminated? I’m with Ms. Holly Horsley, have you checked with her? There has to be a mistake! “</p><p> </p><p>There <em>had</em> to be a mistake.</p><p> </p><p>“There is no mistake, “ Henry insisted, and waved his hand dismissively. “Ms. Horsley is the one who requested the lease termination. Should you have any issues with it, <em>you</em> should be the one checking with her. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley froze. <em>Holly did what?</em></p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t be. There <em>had</em> to be a mistake. Holly was a woman of her words; she wouldn’t just evict him out of the blue.</p><p> </p><p>Something was going <em>terribly wrong</em> with this whole situation.</p><p> </p><p>And so, instead of packing his things upstairs or telling the landlord to hold off on the eviction, Tinsley darted out of the office.</p><p> </p><p>There <em>had</em> to be a mistake.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>There was no mistake, according to Holly.</p><p> </p><p>Evidently, the sight of Tinsley knocking at her door in cream-coloured pajamas and a nest of bed hair, arms crossed and brows furrowed, did not help Tinsley’s case, but the threat of imminent homelessness weighed stronger than his better judgment.</p><p> </p><p>“Where’s Holly, “ Tinsley thought he’d said upon arriving. He was later informed that he didn’t really say that, in fact, but that the whole police department — including the officers on the second floor — could hear his haunting voice thundering down the halls like a madman with multiple restraining orders against him, breaking out of a psychiatric facility and yelling: “WHERE’S HOLLY, I NEED TO SEE HOLLY, WHERE IS SHE??? “</p><p> </p><p>So naturally, when Tinsley gritted the word “eviction” out of his teeth, which Tinsley was sure sounded aggressive given the sheer amount of effort it took him <em>not</em> to spit it out like he did the first day he met Ricky, Holly narrowed her cold, azure eyes, and gave her response in the only way that seemed appropriate for a man overly belligerent for the time of the day.</p><p> </p><p>“There is no mistake, “ she answered curtly. “You are being evicted. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly was calm and composed as ever, but it felt as though she had detonated a pack of dynamites inside Tinsley’s mind.</p><p> </p><p>“But where would I stay then? “ he asked, in a way that came out more desperate than he’d intended.</p><p> </p><p>Holly stared at Tinsley blankly.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not staying, Tinsley. This is an eviction, <em>and</em> a termination of your employment. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“What? “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re <em>fired</em>, Tinsley, “ Holly repeated bluntly.</p><p> </p><p>It took Tinsley a few seconds to register her words. It wasn't his fault though, because Holly had said it in such a matter-of-fact manner that it practically flew over Tinsley’s ears the first time. The second time, she stated it as though Tinsley had been nothing but <em>yet another insignificant bureaucratic layoff, </em>and Tinsley got so overwhelmingly upset that instead of asking about the reason for his termination, he very bluntly blurted out: “No. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly snorted. “I’m afraid you’re not the one making the rules here, Tinsley. My decision is final: I no longer require your services, and you are no longer assigned to the White Wolf case. “</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley was barely listening. Tinsley was in <em>denial.</em> Tinsley was thinking, <em>no, no, no, this cannot be</em>. It couldn’t be, because Tinsley did not turn in jobs “almost” done. Tinsley scraped through the bottom of the barrel until it smiled back at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Why? “ he asked, finally.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley still had to convict Lucy Goldsworth’s killers, and expose Dr. Fear’s underground drug network.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, judging from your lacklustre performance in the past few weeks, I am frankly offended that you even dare ask, Tinsley, “ Holly replied icily.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley still had to tell them what role Banjo had in Lucy’s death.</p><p> </p><p>“You almost got Darla killed with your inane shenanigans. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley still had to tell them who Darla <em>really</em> was.</p><p> </p><p>“You covered Ricky for the death of two men- “</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I</em> killed them, it was self defense, “ Tinsley protested.</p><p> </p><p>Holly raised an eyebrow, and stared at him inquisitively. “Do you seriously think that I don’t know, Tinsley? I may not be a detective, but I can read you fairly easily. You’re like an open book. “</p><p> </p><p>“I.. “ Tinsley stuttered. He wondered if Holly knew, and shook his head to chase away the thought.</p><p> </p><p>“You do know that constitutes obstruction of justice, right? I could charge you criminally. “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not like his other victims, he did it in self defense! “ Tinsley pleaded.</p><p> </p><p>He still had to convict Ricky Goldsworth.</p><p> </p><p>He... didn’t want to.</p><p> </p><p>Holly sighed. “I don’t know why you’re covering for him, because this is a serious crime, “ she said gravely. “But it seems to me as though he’s gotten to your head in the end. It really is a shame, because I liked you, Tinsley. Unfortunately, I think you may have become too emotionally involved to be suited for the case. Consider the fact that I’m not prosecuting you a parting courtesy gift, and go, before I change my mind. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley swallowed, but did not step back. He refused to leave, because he still had unfinished business. And while it pained him to let down two cases, he knew that wasn’t the end of his career — he could just find another case.</p><p> </p><p>The issue, Tinsley knew, was not his career.</p><p> </p><p>It was Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>He still had to see Ricky, and tell Ricky about everything that he couldn’t utter the night before. He still had to find the people who killed Ricky’s mother, so that Ricky could get closure on his mother’s death.</p><p> </p><p>There was so much Tinsley hadn’t said. There was so much he wanted to say. Tinsley still had to tell Ricky how he’d fought every tingling sensation in his body that compelled him to hold Ricky’s hand. Tinsley still had to tell Ricky that he’d shook his head that night, but really he had meant the contrary. Tinsley still had to tell Ricky about that weird Frank guy at the bar, and his uncomfortable dinner with Darla, and the distressing number of times he wished it had been Ricky instead. Tinsley wanted to tell Ricky that he hated himself, but cared more about Ricky than his stupid body would let him.</p><p> </p><p>It had been nothing but a series of self-injurious and bothersome flashbacks from eight years ago, and Tinsley was so fed up of it that he wanted to get this right for <em>goddamn once</em> in his wretched lifetime.</p><p> </p><p>So instead of returning to his now ex-flat to collect his belongings, which he was sure Holly expected him to do, Tinsley stayed right where he stood, and met her unwavering gaze with a strength of his own.</p><p> </p><p>“You can fire me, but I’m not going anywhere, “ he said with a boldness that surprised himself. “I still have unfinished business in this city. You’re not going to stop me. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly stared back at him. She looked thoroughly unimpressed, which seeded a hint of doubt in Tinsley. “Is it about Ricky? Because whatever is going on between the two of you is none of my business. All I know is that you are clearly over-invested in him, and are therefore unsuitable for the investigation. I think you and I both know that emotional over-investment can be a double-edged sword, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“Double-edged implies that there is a good edge, “ Tinsley retorted.</p><p> </p><p>“Certainly, there is. If you are so keen on believing in the good edge of the sword, “ Holly said, a slightly tired look to her face. “You may do as you please; I won’t stop you. However, there are two things you should know. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley kept his gaze trained on Holly. He held in his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“One, as long as I am the district attorney for this city, justice <em>will</em> prevail. If you get in the way of law and order, I will charge you as any other criminal. The fact that you worked for me doesn’t matter. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley fought the urge to roll his eyes. While Holly and him agreed on many things, <em>this</em> wasn't one of them. <em>Law and order depends on circumstance</em>, he thought.</p><p> </p><p>“Two, things may not be as you believe them to be, Tinsley. You may think that Ricky is on your side, but I think we both know how deceptive that man can be, " Holly continued as she gazed down lazily at her desk documents. "After all, he is the one who called me a couple of days ago to request your dismissal. “</p><p> </p><p>“He <em>what?</em> “</p><p> </p><p>It was then that Tinsley’s heart dropped several stories below ground.</p><p> </p><p>“He asked me to fire you. And to be fair, I myself think it is appropriate, but I think you should know that he came to me, “ Holly replied. “I have the call record, if you don’t believe me. However, I do think you should go soon- “</p><p> </p><p>“Show me the record, “ Tinsley ordered, clenching his jaw to prevent his voice from breaking.</p><p> </p><p>Holly gave him a pointed look, before she reluctantly obliged. As she reached her arm over the desk to dial some buttons, Tinsley thought of Ricky’s unreadable gaze as he caressed his cheek, of Ricky’s sullen face as he stood amidst the two dead men, and of Ricky’s heavy-lidded dark eyes and playful smile on the ferris wheel. He thought of <em>Do you?</em> and of <em>You deserve love</em>, and the countless things he would’ve told Ricky if he could’ve. There was no way Ricky did it.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky did, because what came out of Holly’s phone records was unmistakably Ricky’s voice, uttering plainly “you should fire Tinsley, please” and crashing Tinsley’s hopes away along with it. Ricky’s voice was smooth as ever, yet devoid of any inflections. Cold. Emotionless.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The “please” was the cherry on top, really.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Where's Ricky? " Tinsley managed. Every word that came out felt like gritty sand grating against his throat. </p><p> </p><p>Holly raised an eyebrow. "If you're hoping to question him, I'm afraid he told me he's out of town. "</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You should fire Tinsley, please. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Just face the truth, Tinsley. He doesn't want you in this town. "</p><p> </p><p><em>He doesn't want me</em>, Tinsley defeatedly corrected. He barely registered what happened afterwards. He knew that he stumbled out of Holly’s office, and somehow landed back at his now ex-flat. It was past nine, so all of Tinsley’s belongings were dumped on the front door, including an evidently terrified Buddy. Tinsley thought of <em>Do you? </em>and of <em>You deserve love</em>, and struggled to mend its crumbling bridge with <em>You should fire Tinsley</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Who was he even kidding? C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be. Why did he even think it was a good idea to challenge the likes of fate? If history had taught Tinsley <em>anything</em>, it was <em>to not fuck around with fate</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley had been stupid, and stupid landed him on the steps of what used to be the front door of his apartment. Buddy crawled into his lap for comfort, but Tinsley could scarcely suppress his own shivering.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley lowered his hand to his side, and his pinky brushed against a cool, glassy surface. He looked down, and found a lime green vial tossed carelessly onto his new coffee-coloured trench coat. Tinsley picked it up, and despised the soft waft of carnations that came to him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tell me, Tinsley. Do you?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"I like you, " Tinsley had repeated countless times to his stained bathroom mirror, his heart beating rapidly and his hands sweating profusely. "I like you, " Tinsley had recited in his mind on his way to the carnival, and mouthed silently between pauses of stuffed cotton candy before his reflexes shut him down.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I like you, " he said this time, to the air that hung heavy above Buddy's fuzzy little head.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced at the vial, and rolled it aimlessly between his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>"But clearly, you didn't like me enough. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley considered throwing the perfume away.</p><p> </p><p>But he couldn’t bring himself to, so he tucked it inside his pocket, picked his suitcases and Buddy up, and began to head to the train station. The rest of the day came as a blur, and it didn’t take long before Tinsley found himself back at the doorstep of his familiar private office in Schaumburg, Illinois.</p><p> </p><p>He refused to open his office, and instead opted to slump down on his couch and spend monumental efforts in pushing away everything he knew about Ricky Goldsworth: his sharp angelic smile, his deep obsidian eyes, his visible fury as he slashed down the two men for Tinsley, his smirking laughter when Tinsley stepped on his foot during the dance, <em>Do you?</em>, <em>You deserve love</em>, …</p><p> </p><p>It was a stupid thing, Tinsley told himself. He’d been stupid. Cotton candy did not sway the motions of life, he couldn't ride his problems away on a ferris wheel, blossoming spring buds could not revive a wilted camellia, and an overly romantic walk in the park was in fact no walk in the park. So Tinsley convinced himself that when Ricky told him “Good night” the night before, what he really meant was “Good bye. “</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry not sorry</p><p>sorry not sorry pt 2 electric boogaloo: i'm going to need extra time to edit the next few chapters because as you may have guessed from how this chapter ended, i want to make sure i'm proud of what i post for you guys &lt;3<br/>i.e. next chapter will be posted next monday, thank you for your kind patience and for reading this fic (80k and almost 1k hits??? wao i love y'all ;__;)</p><p>see you next monday please don't cry</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Imperfect Dramatic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>italics heavy chapter, you know the drill.</p><p> </p><p>NORMAL FONT = present time<br/>ITALICIZED FONT = ricky's memories</p><p>enjoy (and/or suffer)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No one would ever describe Ricky Goldsworth as perfect, but everyone he’d met would call him dramatic in one way or another.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t bother correcting them, because it showed.</p><p> </p><p>It showed when he willfully had himself detective-napped to an abandoned factory. The building was sorely dilapidated, and he had created problems on purpose for the disgruntled CPD officers who had to retrieve him, but he did end up obtaining valuable tape recordings of the murderer.</p><p> </p><p>It showed when he resigned from the CPD with a simple letter, and a body that wasn’t nearly as plain. He personally found the parting gift too bland still, so he decided order a full stack of customized business cards on a whim, and spent a whole afternoon looking for <em>just the right scent</em> to imbue his new signature with.</p><p> </p><p>It was still showing now, several days after Tinsley went back to Schaumburg, which had initially earned Ricky a narrow-eyed look from Fran, but she hadn’t commented on it further.</p><p> </p><p>Until now.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, no, this is <em>not</em> working, “ Fran declared out of a sudden, after setting down her cup with a firm thud on the table.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky flinched a little, because the last time Fran used such an abrupt tone on him, he was still recovering from his momma's death, which meant that whatever Fran was referring to, she wasn't going to let it go easily. And if Ricky guessed her motives correctly, he was in for a rough night.</p><p> </p><p>He nevertheless entertained the wishful thought that Fran would read the room and let him be, so he kept his gaze trained on his sleek fountain pen as it danced across a cream-coloured sketch paper in shadowy strokes.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ricky</em>. “</p><p> </p><p>What Ricky wanted, Ricky got; the famous adage unfortunately did not apply to Francesca Norris, who evidently was having none of his bullshit. Ricky had recognized her insistent voice, a solemn warning Ricky most certainly did not want to cross.</p><p> </p><p>“What? “ he asked tonelessly as a tentative compromise, his eyes still riveted on the rapid lines underneath the heel of his palm.</p><p> </p><p>“This isn't working, " Fran repeated blankly. "We need to bring Sharp Eye back. "</p><p> </p><p>Ricky tightened his grip around his pen. Tinsley's moniker felt… familiar. Yet, it was also painfully distant, and it made Ricky's heart clench in such a way that Ricky almost wished Tinsley was still here, just so that Ricky could yell at him for being a fucking idiot.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky kept his focus on the tip of his wandering pen.</p><p> </p><p>"No, we don't, " he muttered as he scribbled on aimlessly.</p><p> </p><p>“We do, " Fran insisted. Ricky could feel her judging glare burning holes into his back. That usually would be enough for him to agree with her, but some things couldn't be negotiated, and Tinsley's outcome was one of them.</p><p> </p><p>“No, we don't! He's just a country bumpkin of a detective who comes from the middle of nowhere; if I tell him to fuck off, he better fuck off! Why do you even care anyway? You barely bat an eye when I first told you! "</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause. Ricky was panting; the words had come out more aggressively than he'd thought.</p><p> </p><p>Fran hummed.</p><p> </p><p>“You have a point, “ came her cool, silvery voice. “I didn’t react, because I don’t care about the detective. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky let out a sigh, and picked up the pen he didn’t even realize he’d thrown across his desk. He resumed his drawing, but it didn’t take long before Francesca interrupted him again, much to his dismay.</p><p> </p><p>“But I do care about you, Ricky. Law and order, detective and what not, clearly we have a problem here, because this is your <em>third godforsaken drawing of his face. </em>You haven’t seen the light of day in almost a <em>week</em>, and knowing you, that <em>is</em> cause for concern. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky opened his mouth to protest, but immediately stopped himself, because Fran was right — “I usually am, “ he could hear her say in his head with a nonchalant shrug.</p><p> </p><p>Last time he’d hunkered down like this, he had just lost Lucy.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe, “ he hedged.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re bringing him back then. “</p><p> </p><p>“No we’re not! “</p><p> </p><p>Fran sighed. “You recognize that you have a problem, yet you’re sticking with it. “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have a problem, Fran. I just have… reasons. “</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What </em>reasons, Ricky? Last time I checked, September was <em>not</em> a fun time for you, and for me neither by extension. You looked halfway settled into your own grave, and you don’t look any different now. It was horrible, so I’m struggling to see why you’d want to impose the same thing upon yourself, willingly so no less. “</p><p> </p><p>Almost as if on cue, Ricky’s brain supplied to him the immensely unhelpful memory of Fran’s pleading voice as he laid immobile on the smooth, but cold hard surface that was his office floor.</p><p> </p><p>Francesca Norris did not give a damn about law and order, that much was true. Francesca Norris would gladly flip the system upside down for her own agenda, which coincidentally made her the covert enemy of homophobes, bigots and murderers alike. Everyone else was <em>just there</em>, which was to say that she seldom cared about anyone, ever, unless she considered them family.</p><p> </p><p>Fortunately for Ricky, she considered him family. A heartwarming thought, until Ricky realized it also meant that she wasn’t going to let him write off his own self-negligence with some vague “reasons” and not do anything about it.</p><p> </p><p>So Ricky placed his pen down onto the unfinished sketch, and lifted his head. Unsurprisingly, Fran was staring at him, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“If he comes back, it’s going to end badly for the both of us, Fran. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Holly Horsley speaking, who may this be? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“… “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hello? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“… Why hello, Horsley. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fran quirked an eyebrow. “And why is that? “</p><p> </p><p>"He's law enforcement. "</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Ricky Goldsworth, “ Holly Horsley replied after a pause. Her voice was cool and unwavering as ever, but Ricky could guess the gritting of words on the other side of the line. “What a pleasure to hear from you” was what she said, but Ricky knew she had meant quite the contrary.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky chuckled in an attempt to muffle his own nerves.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“It’s been a while, “ he said simply, but really, he meant that he never intended to deal directly with Holly Horsley again.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yet, here he was, standing in a tumbledown telephone booth in the middle of nowhere, speaking to the face of law enforcement herself.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But Fran just stared at him blankly.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m law enforcement, Ricky. Your mother was law enforcement. Hell, even you were law enforc- “</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I meant, “ Ricky cut in, rolling his eyes. “It’s <em>different</em>. You’re not trying to screw me over, and neither was my momma. “</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t <em>possibly</em> be scared of Ceece, can you? “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not! “ Ricky protested. “I just think hanging around the guy who’s paid to catch me is bad for my longevity. “</p><p> </p><p>Fran snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“Because offing two mobsters in front of Tinsley isn't bad for your longevity? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky groaned. “Oh god, do <em>not</em> remind me, “ he muttered. He didn’t want to remember Tinsley’s wide-eyed look under the quiet pitter-patter of crimson rain. He didn’t want to remember Tinsley’s gentle voice uttering his name softly, nor the way he’d felt his entire body go numbly calm in the wake of his own bloodlust. He didn’t want to remember the extinguished gazes and gaping jaws, the ones that first begged for mercy, then crisped in shock and rigidity, the same haggard faces that Tinsley saw.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky remembered.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“It has been a while indeed, Ricky Goldsworth. I can’t say that I am not surprised by your call, “ Horsley remarked, her voice composed as a spotless mirror facade. “Especially given the circumstances. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Don’t fool yourself, Horsley. I’m only calling today as a concerned citizen, “ Ricky answered tersely, ignoring the derisive snort from the receiver. “One who thinks you should dismiss C.C. Tinsley. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>There was a moment of silence. Then:</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I know you make the rules in many areas of your life, Ricky. But this is my department, and I do not think you have a say in how I manage it, “ came Horsley’s voice in a flat tone. “And don’t think that you are fooling me. Tinsley is assigned to the White Wolf case. You, Mr. Goldsworth, have ulterior motives. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky could feel his chest tighten a little. But he thought of Tinsley’s wide-eyed look. He shook it off by biting his lip, and pressed on.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know what you’re talking about, “ he bluffed. “But tell me, Horsley. Has Tinsley been working on the White Wolf case as of late? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You may not know this, because you were too busy hurrying off to heavens know where, but Sharp Eye cleaned up after you. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky blinked. “What do you mean? “</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, he didn’t clean up like <em>I </em>did, " Fran chuckled and pointed dramatically to her own chest. "But he called them in. Under his own name. “</p><p> </p><p>“What? “</p><p> </p><p>“He didn’t call in anonymously, Ricky. I think you know what this means. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky wished he didn’t. He wished he didn’t feel the lump forming in his throat as the sobering realization dawned on him.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky knew, so he had to deal with the repercussions that sometimes came oh-so-painfully with the burden of knowledge.</p><p> </p><p>“He covered for me, “ he answered in a strained voice.</p><p> </p><p>Fran nodded, her serious expression mirroring the weight of Ricky’s thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>“I think it’s safe to assume that he’s not going to turn you in, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I fail to see how Tinsley’s professional performance would affect you, “ Horsley retorted. “Considering your status as a ‘concerned citizen’. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Holly Horsley was seriously beginning to get on Ricky’s nerves. But two could play at that game, so Ricky answered without missing a beat: “Precisely as a concerned citizen, I think I speak for many of us when I say that your department is not doing enough to catch the White Wolf. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Are you telling me that my department is not doing its job? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“That’s exactly what I’m saying. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“If you’re only here to disparage the CPD, then I think you best do that in our press briefings, Ricky, “ Horsley said coldly. “The discussion stops her- “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Tinsley sympathizes with his suspects, Horsley. Don’t you think that’s grounds for considering him a liability? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky knew.</p><p> </p><p>After all, it was hard not to notice the thickening of Tinsley’s “Lucy” folder, and the stagnation of his “White Wolf” folder. Tinsley may not be into <strike>Ricky</strike> men, but he certainly no longer despised Ricky, which was a bittersweet bit of comfort Ricky partly clung to, partly repressed.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, “ Ricky said to Fran. “That makes it ten times worse. “</p><p> </p><p>Fran stared at him blankly. Her inquisitive look and absolute silence was enough to make Ricky shift around his seat.</p><p> </p><p>“I just- He has <em>no</em> sense of personal hygiene and wears his coat with the collar flipped up, yet he brushes his cat’s fur coat and changes its litter religiously; he’s a calculating prick, and yet he uses his forte to work himself to the bone for the deaths of people who don’t even concern him; he’s supposed to despise me simply based on our respective goals — I mean, he’s supposed to <em>catch me, </em>for fuck’s sake — and yet, he fucking listened to me and does more for Lucy than he’s ever done for Holly Horsley, even though Horsley pays him much more than I ever did- fucking hell Fran, he’s an idiot who’s going to get himself killed at this rate! “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“That may make him a liability, but he is a stellar detective nevertheless, “ Horsley refuted.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“A better detective than you ever were, “ Ricky heard her think, and rolled his eyes.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But he remembered the way Tinsley’s coffee-coloured eyes crinkled when the tall detective smiled. So, he bit his lip, and pressed on.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Skills mean nothing if he’s fighting on the wrong side, “ Ricky argued with a conviction that surprised himself. “His skills are diluted by his excessive involvement, and I’m sure you know what emotional over-investment can do to the most well-intended of detectives. As a concerned citizen, I think he’s no longer your best bet at catching the White Wolf, Horsley. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Fair enough, he could’ve avoided the two mobsters. “</p><p> </p><p>“He couldn’t have, “ Ricky argued. “Do you even know why they were after him? “</p><p> </p><p>“Because he threatened their livelihood, as he did with you, “ Fran answered easily.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Well, yes, but also no. We investigated Darla, and landed on some <em>seriously sketchy shit</em>. They’re after him, and they want him dead, Fran! “</p><p> </p><p>Fran leaned back in her chair. “Isn’t that the ideal scenario, though? You partner up with him to gather evidence, and he gets taken care of before he becomes a problem, “ she said nonchalantly.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“No, “ he blurted after a pause. “No, it wouldn’t. “</p><p> </p><p>Fran’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Then she let out a small chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>“You love him, “ she diagnosed plainly.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky averted his gaze.</p><p> </p><p>He did.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You know, I’m starting to think that you’re overstepping your role as a ‘concerned citizen’, Ricky, “ Horsley let out, a strange edge to her cold voice. “Almost as though you’re personally involved. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Let’s forget my role here for a moment. Do you seriously not think Tinsley’s slacking? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A pause.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“… No, I do. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You’re afraid I’m tricking you. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“It wouldn’t be the first time you’d do that, Goldsworth, “ came Horsley’s curt voice. “You can be quite volatile when you’re not a ‘concerned citizen’, you know. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I just don’t want to lose any more of my people, Fran, “ Ricky let out humourlessly. “Everyone who’s overly kind to me ends up murked in some way or another, and I can’t afford to go through another death like momma’s, I really can’t, “ he continued with a voice that cracked at the brim.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought I was part of your people? “</p><p> </p><p>“You are, but you’re too smart to get murked. “</p><p> </p><p>“Fair enough, “ Fran said, a small smirk forming at the corner of her merlot-tinted lips. The dark red colour reminded Ricky of blood, more blood, stained on his hands and his sleeves and splattering across immaculate walls as he stabbed, stabbed, and stabbed-</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s stomach churned at the idea of Tinsley’s widened eyes, but he chose not to mention it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You should fire Tinsley, please, “ Ricky pleaded. “Forget ulterior motives, Horsley. I think you and I both know this would be a mutually beneficial decision. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ricky could hear the quiet, yet nervous beating of his own heart as he waited out the radio silence on the other side of the receiver.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I will consider, “ Horsley said finally.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky gazed at the portrait of Tinsley before him. Soft strokes delineated the crinkles of Tinsley’s smile.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky picked up his pen.</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley doesn’t belong here, “ he let out dryly. “I’m not changing my mind. “</p><p> </p><p>“But Ricky- “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not changing my mind, Fran, “ Ricky interrupted. His voice was pleading, insistent. “Please. “</p><p> </p><p>“Last time you were in this disastrous state, it took you several months and multiple murders to recover, “ Fran pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky knew she was right. Food tasted bad, work was horrible, and he’d lay awake in his bed for hours into the night, his mind ceaselessly mulling over the endless “what if”’s in which Lucy would still be alive. He felt numb most of the time, and despised the feigned sympathies he’d receive from people who didn’t deserve to even utter Lucy’s name.</p><p> </p><p>No one would ever describe Ricky Goldsworth as perfect, but everyone he’d met would call him dramatic. But Ricky wasn’t perfect, and never sought to be; drastic times required drastic measures, and while this decision was nowhere near perfect, it was the right one. <em>It has to be.</em></p><p> </p><p>So he ignored the uncomfortable churning in his stomach and the familiar numb feeling in his limbs, and resumed his scribbling.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll find a way, “ Ricky muttered halfheartedly.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1000 hits :O !!!!!!! thank you so much for your kind support, as well as your patience &lt;3 publishing schedule is resuming to normal :D</p><p>sorry not sorry for suffering part two electric boogaloo</p><p>and again, kudos, comments, liveposts etc all very appreciated!! i want to hear your thoughts :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. You're Gay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: f slur + homophobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ricky did find a way, or so he thought.</p><p> </p><p>Francesca would beg to differ, because Ricky had stopped all activity — be it legal or not. Ricky ceased to kill, and Ricky stopped attending press conferences and municipal meetings, or whatever cocktail party his father invited him to. Ricky downed his coffee in the morning with a jarring dispassion, and spent the rest of his day staring blankly at the dozens of drawings he’d “inadvertently” made in Tinsley’s image. Ricky barely left the seat of his office desk, and would only get up if medically necessary (and as far as Ricky was now concerned, food was apparently not considered a medical necessity).</p><p> </p><p><em>He’ll get over this with time, </em>Fran figured. But a woman could only tolerate so much gross self-negligence, before Ricky exudes blatant disinterest in his favourite lime lollipop, and Fran reluctantly lands herself in Schaumburg, Illinois, in an attempt to bring back a no-name-big-deal detective before Ricky inflicts irreparable damage upon himself.</p><p> </p><p>Fran did not find C.C. Tinsley in a much better state when she knocked on his door, judging from the sorely unenthusiastic “who’s this? “ from the other end.</p><p> </p><p>According to Ricky, Tinsley was a workaholic, which meant that piles upon piles of unorganized case files bestrewing his office weren’t uncommon practice for him — and neither was his utter disregard for personal hygiene. But the dreary look on that pale, unshaven face scarcely bothered to meet Fran’s eyes, and that in itself told Fran that Tinsley <em>was not happy to be here</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Private investigator C.C. Tinsley at your service, how may I help you, ma'am? " came Tinsley’s toneless voice.</p><p> </p><p>The sight in itself was miserable, and Fran felt a strong, compelling urge to turn around and leave.</p><p> </p><p>Fran wasn’t interested in C.C. Tinsley, and in theory, she couldn’t care less if Ricky fancied him, or vice versa.</p><p> </p><p>Playing Cupid was neither Francesca Norris' interest, nor her forte.</p><p> </p><p>But while romantic shenanigans elicited nothing but utter indifference in Francesca Norris, <em>friendship</em> was a whole other story, which was why Fran remembered Ricky’s increasingly dysfunctional behaviour in his unusually dusty office, and fought against her own feet to remain at Tinsley’s doorway.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t matter that Fran didn’t care, because Ricky did, and that’s all that mattered right now.</p><p> </p><p>Fran glanced at the man behind the desk. She noticed the way Tinsley’s head remained buried amidst what appeared to be fresh case files, and the way Tinsley barely registered her presence, despite the excessively long silence that had followed his initial greeting.</p><p> </p><p>Francesca cleared her throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Good afternoon, detective Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>A second went by, then Tinsley’s eyes fluttered a little, before Tinsley finally lifted his head and met Francesca’s gaze. His eyes struggled to remain open, and his mouth was slightly agape. He looked dumbfounded.</p><p> </p><p>“Madam Nor- “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em>for heaven’s sake</em>, you can call me Francesca, “ Fran interrupted, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here? “</p><p> </p><p>“Straight to the point. I like that, “ Fran remarked. “But I think you know why I’m here. “</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean? “</p><p> </p><p>Fran raised an eyebrow. “We’re not exactly friends, detective. So why would I take a train to Schaumburg to personally come knocking at your door? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky, “ he muttered in a way that felt like Ricky brought vibrant colours to the skies of his life, but sounded like Ricky murdered his cat in cold blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Bingo. About Ricky- “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not going back, if that’s what you’re asking, “ Tinsley cut in flatly, flipping a page from an unworn folder.</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Fran’s words remained stuck in her throat.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley eyed Fran with a tired look. “Did I hit the nail on the head? Can I work in peace now? With all due respect, I’ve got a new case to work on, I don’t have all day. “</p><p> </p><p>Francesca frowned. But instead of backing out of the doorway like Tinsley wanted her to, she stepped forward, and began pacing around Tinsley’s office.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re correct, detective, “ she conceded. “But I’m just curious. Judging from the way you talk about Ricky, you clearly care about him. So why- “</p><p> </p><p>“Why? Because I got <em>fired</em>, Francesca. And <em>yes</em>, I could technically stay in Chicago, but here’s the thing: <em>I don’t want to</em>. “</p><p> </p><p>Fran’s eyes widened. But before she could retort, Tinsley continued, with a bitterness she didn’t find in him the last time they met.</p><p> </p><p>“You were right in that I care about Ricky, “ he said. “But it doesn’t matter now, because Ricky’s the one who made Holly fire me. He doesn’t care about me, <em>and</em> he’s a heartless murderer! So why should I even stay? “</p><p> </p><p>“He cares about you, “ Fran refuted. She opted to ignore the strange unease in her stomach as she heard the words “heartless murderer”.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, does he now? “ Tinsley scoffed. “He sure didn't tell me that when I left. In fact, he didn’t even leave me a word! “</p><p> </p><p>“He may not voice it, but he hasn’t been doing well since you left, detective. If that’s not saying something, I don’t know what does, “ Francesca shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>“Well guess what? It’s <em>too late</em>, Francesca, “ Tinsley spat out. “I’m sick and tired of this, and I’m sick and tired of him. Love isn’t something that blooms well, especially for our kind, and <em>God knows</em> how badly it can go. It’s bound to be a disaster, not that it isn’t already a disaster — one which I’m <em>not</em> willing to fix at this point. We’re destined to <em>die alone</em>, because we’re <em>faggots</em>. “</p><p> </p><p>Fran’s mouth fell agape.</p><p> </p><p>"What did you just say? " she said, her voice eerily quiet and low.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’ve had my share of being an unnatural failure, Francesca. I’m sick and tired of it. I just want to work on case files. I don’t want to think about it, “ he let out in a dejected voice. “So please, leave me alone. “</p><p> </p><p>And Fran was <em>sick and tired</em> of Tinsley’s bullshit. There were very few things that irked Francesca Norris in this world, but homophobia was one of them — and Fran wouldn’t bat an eyelash at reasonable murder. Naturally, when Tinsley called himself a <em>faggot</em> like he believed it, she felt compelled to yell at the tall detective in that unhinged, incensed way Ricky would’ve usually done.</p><p> </p><p>But Francesca wasn’t Ricky. Francesca had her own ways, but she always acted with grace and poise, so she didn’t scream at C.C. Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she slowly approached Tinsley’s desk, and met Tinsley’s tired gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“C.C. Tinsley, 30 years old, from Schaumburg, Illinois, “ she stated flatly. “Detective since 1939, private eye since 1943. Generally unheard of from the public, but very well known within law enforcement due to the cases of Lola Collins and Brian Evans. You’re known as the ’Sharp Eye’, the man of details, the one who shortens court cases. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. He looked positively nonplussed.</p><p> </p><p>“And why are you suddenly narrating my life? “ he asked, narrowing his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Because that’s what <em>most of us</em> know about you, “ Fran replied. “That’s what the CPD knows, that’s what Holly Horsley knows, and that’s also what Ricky knows. There isn’t much else to the narrative. You’re a diamond in the rough, a hidden gem, an untapped goldmine of evidence. Or so the story goes. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>“But there’s more to it, isn’t it, detective? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but you do. “</p><p> </p><p>Fran turned around, and began pacing the room slowly.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the younger son of Howard and Irene Tinsley, and the younger brother of Oscar Cole Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>“Your family was middle class, and as any family with ‘good values’ would, they condemned homosexuality. “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t like where this is going, Francesca. “</p><p> </p><p>“You enrolled in the SPD at age 18, “ Fran continued, ignoring Tinsley. “And at age 19, you married Eleanor Fisher, the daughter of your father’s wealthy business partner. “</p><p> </p><p>Fran glanced at Tinsley, and saw the man’s face freeze.</p><p> </p><p>She knew why.</p><p> </p><p>“Your marriage proves to be short-lived, as Eleanor Tinsley files for divorce three years later, and accuses you of homosexuality and infidelity with a man named Wyatt- "</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, that's enough, " Tinsley warned lowly.</p><p> </p><p>"-doesn't matter. Shortly after the divorce, both Cornelius and Irene Tinsley, as well as Eleanor Tinsley and Wyatt Johnson, are found shot dead in what was then the Tinsley residence. Your older brother, Oscar Tinsley- "</p><p> </p><p>“I said enough- “</p><p> </p><p>"-is found guilty of the four murders and incarcerated. But popular belief at the time- "</p><p> </p><p>“ENOUGH! " Tinsley yelled.</p><p> </p><p>"-suggests you killed your family and romantic partners due to fear of persecution. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t kill them, “ Tinsley said, quieter this time.</p><p> </p><p>Fran shrugged. “I never said you did. “</p><p> </p><p>“How do you even know all of this?! “</p><p> </p><p>Francesca chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think you should underestimate the Federal Bureau, detective Tinsley. And judging from your prompt departure from the Schaumburg Police Department and the rapid disappearance of news coverage, I’m assuming there was some form of massive cover-up. Otherwise, I can’t find any other explanations to the odd obscurity of your name, despite the fact that you <em>are</em> associated with a <em>quadruple murder</em> in a relatively small town. “</p><p> </p><p>The silence that followed was resounding. Fran glanced at Tinsley, and found a completely glazed look across the man’s tired eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Fran sighed. She approached Tinsley’s desk, and gently sat down on the guest chair.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories, detective. Point is, there’s nothing holding you back in Schaumburg. You don’t have family left here. “</p><p> </p><p>"I have cases to work on. "</p><p> </p><p>"That's just an excuse, " Fran pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>“It might be, but that doesn’t mean I should go back to Chicago. “</p><p> </p><p>Francesca pressed her lips in a tight line. <em>Ricky better thank me for this, </em>she thought, and took a deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you’ve had a rough past, detective, and people have told you to reject the love you feel for a man- “</p><p> </p><p>“They’re right in doing so. It brings nothing but trouble, “ Tinsley muttered humourlessly.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think that’s an excuse to deny yourself love, “ Fran retorted. “It’s not an excuse to <em>not embrace who you are</em>, and we all know you’ve been very adamant on that. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Tinsley blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re gay, Tinsley, “ Fran diagnosed bluntly.</p><p> </p><p>“I know! For fuck’s sake, can you not remind me of that? I’m trying to forget! “ Tinsley exclaimed.</p><p> </p><p>“Forget? Don’t you realize? You <em>can’t </em>forget, detective, and fighting it will only make you miserable. “</p><p> </p><p>“As if I’m not already miserable, “ Tinsley scoffed bitterly. “Loving the same sex <em>is</em> suffering, Francesca. And it’s never going to work. “</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, first of all, that’s just plain insulting. You’re not the only homosexual in the room, “ Fran pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. He looked confused at first, then confused still, before his eyes finally widened with realization.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, “ he said.</p><p> </p><p>Fran gave him a look, then cleared her throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Secondly, I doubt your time spent with Ricky was anything close to miserable, “ she continued.</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Tinsley gazed pensively at the piles of paper on his desk.</p><p> </p><p>“No, it wasn’t, “ he admitted. “But it became miserable the moment I knew he wanted me out of town. “</p><p> </p><p>“He <em>doesn’t </em>want you out of town, he did that to <em>protect</em> <em>you</em>, “ Fran retorted, pinching the bridge of her nose. There were very few things that irked Francesca Norris in this world, but C.C. Tinsley was beginning to test her limits.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t believe you. “</p><p> </p><p>“<em>God</em>, “ Fran let out exasperatedly. “You know what? I’ve got proof. Here’s proof. “</p><p> </p><p>She fumbled around in her purse, before dropping a small, metallic device onto Tinsley’s desk. Tinsley stared at the device, then at Francesca quizzically.</p><p> </p><p>“I had a conversation with Ricky a few days ago, “ Fran explained. “I recorded it with this. There’s your proof. “</p><p> </p><p>Hesitantly, Tinsley picked up the device. He dialled to play the recording, and braced himself for impact.</p><p> </p><p>Out came a smooth voice he knew all too well.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“If he comes back, it’s going to end badly for the both of us, Fran. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth didn’t care about C.C. Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Fucking hell Fran, he’s an idiot who’s going to get himself killed at this rate! “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>And C.C. Tinsley didn’t care to live. Eleanor left him because he loved Wyatt. Ricky kicked him out because he loved Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“He didn’t call in anonymously, Ricky. I think you know what this means. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“He covered for me, “ Ricky replied in a strained voice.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley loved Ricky Goldsworth.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You love him, “ Francesca diagnosed plainly.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s heart clenched at the deafening silence that ensued. It was a silence that spoke loudly, one that could tear down the walls Tinsley kept building, replacing them with seeds of hope<em>.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I just don’t want to lose any more of my people, Fran, “ came Ricky’s voice.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth loved C.C. Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Everyone who’s overly kind to me ends up murked in some way or another, and I can’t afford to go through another death like momma’s, I really can’t. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s voice cracked at the brim, and while it was almost unbearable for Tinsley, it was also then that it all clicked.</p><p> </p><p>The sudden disappearance. The strange carnival date, with no explanation to Ricky’s disappearance. An insistence on enjoying the day as it is.</p><p> </p><p>Someone once said that epiphanies came crystal clear, but Tinsley’s mind felt like nothing more than a turbulent storm. Tinsley saw cotton candy and an older boy’s fond smile, and cotton candy and Ricky’s playful smirk. Tinsley heard gunshots, the splatter of blood, and the sullen faces that haunted him.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky sent him away to protect him.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s gaze landed on the green vial. It had been sitting at the corner of Tinsley’s shelf for a while now, and Tinsley had made a conscious decision to ignore its presence. But he couldn’t help but look at it fondly now, as he remembered the stupid beard and disguises he suffered through to obtain it. To catch Ricky.</p><p> </p><p><em>We deserve love too</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>You deserve love</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley lifted his head, and glanced at Fran.</p><p> </p><p>“Did it work out for you? “ he asked, hesitant.</p><p> </p><p>“What? “</p><p> </p><p>“The whole, uh, homosexuality thing, you know, “ Tinsley said, fiddling with the hem of his sleeves.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, “ Fran chuckled in realization. “I think it worked out pretty well for me. I am still celibate, but I’ve embraced who I am a long time ago. I haven’t looked back, and never will. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley hummed.</p><p> </p><p>“Give us some more credit, detective. Loving someone of your sex doesn’t always end the way it did between you and Wyatt, " Fran continued.</p><p> </p><p>"Nothing happened between us, " Tinsley responded, defensively early.</p><p> </p><p>"But you loved him. "</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley frowned.</p><p> </p><p>He nodded in defeat.</p><p> </p><p>Fran smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“Point is, it doesn't always end like that. Sometimes, it works out. “</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure? “</p><p> </p><p>“Affirmative, “ Fran declared confidently, and smiled.</p><p> </p><p><em>We deserve love too</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“How’s Ricky? “ Tinsley asked, carefully.</p><p> </p><p>“Terrible. He hasn’t showered in days, which is disastrous because we’re talking about <em>Ricky</em> here. He won’t come out of his office unless the restrooms call to him, and he’s lost taste for most of things he enjoys. He must be on his 20th drawing of you by now, and I told him to stop but he just wouldn’t. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley could feel his fist tighten. His eyes drifted to the green vial. He got up, and grabbed it, turning it around and feeling its cool, glassy surface.</p><p> </p><p>It felt… familiar.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley clenched his fingers around the vial, and glanced at Francesca’s deep-set, frowning eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, you speak differently when you talk about Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>“He’s my friend, “ Fran refuted with a side-eyed look.</p><p> </p><p>“You make a good friend, Francesca, “ Tinsley shrugged, before walking briskly towards the back door.</p><p> </p><p>“Where are you headed? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn’t stop, nor did he reply.</p><p> </p><p>Fran sighed. Tinsley could hear her firm footsteps fading into the exit.</p><p> </p><p>“If you hurt Ricky, you know the deal, “ came her silvery voice, before Tinsley’s door closed shut.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ricky: how come i'm always getting fuckin tape recorded, i'm tired of this shit leave me out of it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. You're An Idiot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ricky hated his ceiling wall. </p><p> </p><p>It was white, bland, and textureless; its flat surface offered nothing of aesthetic interest. Ricky felt nothing as he stared at it, and yet he couldn’t find a reason to do anything else. Ricky was 26, he was wealthy and unemployed, and his fountain pen had freshly run out of ink. The ticking sound of the watch around his aching left wrist was the only audible sound across his study room. Nothing compelled him to get up to change his ink cartridge, so he chose to lie catatonically in his chair and stare blankly at his ceiling wall like his life depended on it.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to stare at his half-finished work for obvious reasons, but that also didn’t stop him from thinking about C.C. Tinsley. The crinkled eye-smile that used to elicit small flutters within Ricky’s chest now only reminded Ricky of the gaping void within him, and of the comfortable numbness that overtook his limbs.</p><p> </p><p>But it didn’t matter, because Ricky wasn’t going to change his mind. He had made the right decision, this was but the price to pay.</p><p> </p><p><em>This will pass</em>. <em>It’s the right decision. It has to be.</em></p><p> </p><p>Ricky shook his head, and remembered the way Tinsley would close his eyes and shake his head gently. He cursed himself for remembering.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Maybe I should figure out the deal with Dr. Fear.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>That’s right</em>, Ricky thought. He still had a list to go through. Tinsley may no longer be around, but Ricky was still supposed to avenge Lucy. He was still supposed to deal with Dr. Fear.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky reached for his inner pocket knife, but stopped halfway. His hand fell limp to his side.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t have the heart to plan murder.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky couldn’t focus on the geography of Dr. Fear’s hospital, because his mind kept drifting back to Tinsley’s hand carding through his tousled brown hair, and Tinsley’s small, nervous chuckle that came with it. He couldn’t think of stabbing Darla in her sleep when his mind kept supplying images of Tinsley’s coffee-coloured eyes looking up as he savoured the cyan cotton candy. He couldn’t plot revenge when every time he plunged the knife, he’d find Tinsley’s widened look staring back at him, haunting him as though Tinsley was the man beneath his blade, eyes haggard and cherry flush drained from his already pale face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He covered for you. He risked his life for you. You don’t deserve him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky threw his sketchbook across the room, and screamed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You’re just a murderer.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You don’t deserve him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe I don't, " he scoffed to no one, bitterly.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Ricky scarcely knew the time when he heard the loud knocks, but he also didn't care.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">He didn't want to get up, and it was simpler to just <em>not get up</em>, so Ricky didn't answer the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">But the knocks persisted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky shot a lazy glance at the door, and sighed. “Fran, is that you? I said I wanted to be alone for- “</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t get more time to finish his sentence, because the door flung wide open. Ricky’s eyes widened as they flew to the tall, familiar silhouette standing in the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>“You, “ came C.C. Tinsley’s growling voice.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky blinked at Tinsley, then at Tinsley’s index finger pointed towards him.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t utter a word.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever had the displeasure of encountering, Ricky Goldsworth, “ Tinsley continued in his hostile tone.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky remained speechless.</p><p> </p><p>It felt like a weird fever dream.</p><p> </p><p>And nothing convinced him it hadn't been one, because it was almost as though nothing had changed. Ricky didn’t send Tinsley away for his safety, and Tinsley didn’t work on Lucy’s case. They never shared that awkward dance at the gay bar, and Ricky never poured his heart out on the garden swings. They weren’t friends, and Tinsley barged into Ricky’s study room to threaten the man with jail. Tinsley’s hair was unruly, his coat looked moth-eaten and its collar was popped. Tinsley had a frown to his face, an accusatory glare to his coffee-coloured eyes, and a confrontational finger point that painfully reminded Ricky that they’re<em> supposed to kill each other</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But whereas Ricky would barely give <em>detective Tinsley</em> a second glance then, he couldn’t keep his eyes away from <em>Tinsley</em> now. After all, this wasn't the meticulous, calculating private eye who cared about nothing but to see Ricky behind bars; this was the soft-eyed Tinsley who comforted him on the garden swings and sacrificed sleep for Lucy Goldsworth.</p><p> </p><p>This was the C.C. Tinsley he knew, and loved.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here? “ Ricky finally asked.</p><p> </p><p>“YOU’RE A DUMBASS, RICKY! “</p><p> </p><p><em>And you're still a fucking idiot.</em> </p><p> </p><p>“That’s not the point, “ Ricky muttered. “Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here- “</p><p> </p><p>“Quit the horseshit, will you? “ Tinsley interrupted bluntly. “Your friend with the FBI badge and questionable morals, Francesca- “</p><p> </p><p>“-her morals aren’t questionable- “</p><p> </p><p>“-she stalked the living hell out of me, fuck you, “ Tinsley cut in. “Francesca told me everything, and in conclusion, you’re a monumental idiot, and I hope you know that- “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s for your own good! “ Ricky cried out.</p><p> </p><p>“For my own good? “ Tinsley spat bitterly. “Do you know how I felt when Holly told me you got me fired? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky blinked.</p><p> </p><p>"You weren't supposed to know that. "</p><p> </p><p>“Well guess what, asshat? I do. And I can understand Holly firing me for not turning results, but you? I trusted you! "</p><p> </p><p>“You almost got murked, remember? I can’t let that happen a second time, not on my watch! “</p><p> </p><p>“So you thought it was a good idea to have my boss tell me to fuck off to Schaumburg?! “ Tinsley yelled.</p><p> </p><p>“You’d be better off that way! “ Ricky pleaded.</p><p> </p><p>“Better off? There’s absolutely nothing waiting for me in Schaumburg. Who are you even to decide what’s better for me? “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m your friend, Tins! “</p><p> </p><p>“Of course you are, “ Tinsley scoffed.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky's brows furrowed.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? “</p><p> </p><p>“We’re friends <em>alright</em>, " Tinsley said in a mocking tone. "Because of course only <em>you</em> would take a 'friend' to the carnival, then send him off with a one-way ticket back to the hometown that has nothing left for him, save for a couple of dingy homicide cases to distract him from the utter trainwreck of a life he’s been leading! "</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky felt a lump in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>"Tinsley... "</p><p> </p><p>"You didn’t even say goodbye to me, " Tinsley retorted. "And now you’re copying my way of living, lack of shower and all- “</p><p> </p><p>“Who told you- “</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t leave your house, you refuse to answer calls, and you don’t even want to drink coffee with Francesca- I mean, look at you! It's almost as if you don’t want to live! “</p><p> </p><p>“So what do you expect me to do? “ Ricky exclaimed. “Keep you here and have the millions of scenarios in my head get the better of me? I’m a feckless murderer, you’re a straight man with morals, there's this lunatic doctor running around and he wants to murder you- <em>fuck</em>, Tins, I can’t take it! There are <em>so many things</em> that can go wrong if you stay, and I don’t think I can handle the prospect of you getting fucking murked, and- “</p><p> </p><p><em>-and your disgust towards me</em>.</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Ricky could see winces, frowns and pressed lips flash across Tinsley's face, before Tinsley sighed defeatedly, and met Ricky's gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em>gay</em>, Ricky, “ Tinsley said flatly. “Always have been. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You- “</p><p> </p><p>“And I can defend myself just fine. You’re just making excuses, because you’re cowardly, " Tinsley continued. "Because you don’t care enough- “</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>do</em>- “</p><p> </p><p>“THEN PROVE IT, COWARD! “ Tinsley yelled.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky wanted to prove Tinsley wrong. But Ricky was also a man who hadn’t held a conversation for longer than five minutes in days, let alone an argument. Ricky hadn’t moved from his seat in hours, his left hand was cramped, and the man his mind kept wandering to was standing right before him, yelling at him to give a fuck about him. Ricky’s mind was short-circuiting, his cheeks felt hot and flushed, and his fist was clenching.</p><p> </p><p>So Ricky did the only thing he could think of.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky strode forward, yanked Tinsley’s shirt collar towards him, and sealed the gap between them with a kiss.</p><p> </p><p>It felt the unleashing of a searing hellfire, coursing from Tinsley’s gentle lips all the way to Ricky’s thrumming heart. It was the needy clutching of Tinsley’s shirt, and the equally yearnful tugging of Ricky’s lower lip. It was the colliding of two worlds separated weeks too long, and this was the culmination of weeks of pent up frustration.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t matter that this was far from Ricky’s first kiss, because Tinsley’s hand slowly made its way to Ricky’s back, and Tinsley’s hand pressed firmly into it, bringing their bodies closer. Tinsley <em>kissed back</em>, and Ricky could feel Tinsley’s rapidly pulsing heartbeat quickening his own. Nothing mattered anymore in that moment, because Ricky now knew that Tinsley wanted him, <em>bad</em>, and the thought of it alone was making his head spin.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I fucking love you, C.C. Tinsley.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>They eventually pulled back, and Ricky struggled to catch his own breath. He lifted his head up, and found Tinsley gazing at him with soft eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’ve made my point, “ Tinsley said quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“FINE, you can stay, “ Ricky grumbled, then patted down his shirt to flatten it.</p><p> </p><p>A small smile formed at the corner of Tinsley’s flushed lips. Then, he glanced up.</p><p> </p><p>“I should head out now, I have to meet Holly. I was going to give you this first, “ Tinsley muttered as he held out a bouquet to Ricky. Ricky raised an eyebrow, before hesitantly accepting the bouquet. “But I guess now it’s just something extra. I’ll see you soon, “ he added, softly.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait- “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tinsley. You’re an idiot. Thank you. How did you know? Why did you cover for me? Why are you back? You’re a fucking idiot, Tinman. You’re going to get yourself killed, Tinman. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky wanted to tell Tinsley a million different things, but Tinsley’s footsteps were already distant.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a piece of shit, Tinsley! “ Ricky yelled out.</p><p> </p><p>No response. All that remained was the bouquet of fragrant carnations Ricky now held. The flowers were tinted green; the corner of a small card peaked out of them.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky carefully picked the card out of the wrapper, and stared at the messily handwritten letters.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>" FUCK YOU I AIN’T GOING ANYWHERE "</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>"You're gonna get yourself killed at this rate, Tinman, " Ricky muttered.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced at the bouquet again.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But not on my watch.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>folks, we have arrived. </p><p>welcome to tinsworth territory. population: two dumbasses</p><p>well, "tinsworth" territory; who knows what'll really happen ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>thank you so much for reading &amp; for your continued support (&amp; for soldiering through last week's angst, sorry not sorry for the pain)</p><p>l8r sk8r</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Coldhearted Killer, Emotional Lawyer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: f slur</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It didn’t take much for Holly to figure out that the person knocking on her office door right now was C.C. Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>Banjo usually knocked loudly, but he was also insistent; “Ms. Horsley, “ he’d call out, and then left when Holly exasperatedly told him off — only to come knocking again five minutes later.</p><p> </p><p>Darla, on the other hand, exerted more self-restraint. She would seldom bother Holly when the latter’s office door was closed. When the door was<em> not</em> closed, Darla would occasionally drop by and greet Holly by meekly peeking through the doorframe with a warm smile. If there were any emergencies, Darla would simply call Holly directly from the reception booth, but emergencies really only occurred twice: once, when Darla’s father was hospitalized, and then a second time when the whole death threat ordeal happened.</p><p> </p><p>Most police officers would defer back to Banjo, and most visitors went through Darla before they met Holly.</p><p> </p><p>Well, there was also Ricky Goldsworth — but Ricky had left the CPD over half a year ago, and never bothered to visit the precinct, unless he was begrudgingly summoned by the mayor himself.</p><p> </p><p>And granted, Tinsley had made quite an entrance the last time he came to contest his eviction, but it had been an exception to the rule. Tinsley’s knocks were firm, sometimes insistent — almost the way Banjo would do it. However, <em>unlike</em> Banjo, C.C. Tinsley <em>never</em> called out to Holly.</p><p> </p><p>So when the silent, yet loud knocks came to her door, Holly instantly knew.</p><p> </p><p>“Someone’s back, “ she answered.</p><p> </p><p>Holly’s tone was contemptuous, and she didn’t bother opening the door. But the door didn’t bother waiting for Holly, because Tinsley decided to <em>open it himself</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Holly sighed. <em>This is going to be an unpleasant one</em>, she thought.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had been calm on the outside, but his mind had been <em>anything but calm</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He kissed me. He kissed me. He kissed me he kissed m-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had never kissed a man before.</p><p> </p><p>He’d imagined doing it, <em>several times</em>, but he never thought his first kiss would turn out this way.</p><p> </p><p>And by <em>this way</em>, he meant a lot of things.</p><p> </p><p>It started when Francesca invited herself over to his office in Schaumburg, and narrated his life the way Holly did (<em>what is it with law and justice authorities that makes them keep doing that to get what they want?</em>). It took Tinsley everything to not spiral back into 1943, where Eleanor had wanted him dead, bullets had flown too quickly, and then he had wished he was dead as well.</p><p> </p><p>But Francesca was right: Tinsley’s whole family was torn asunder, and he had no one to go back to. Tinsley wasn’t an alcoholic, but he might as well have been one, judging from the self-destructive work ethic he’d stiffly upheld for <em>eight years, </em>in the hopes of one day forgetting it all<em>.</em></p><p> </p><p>And Francesca was right: C.C. Tinsley loved Ricky Goldsworth. Tinsley was going to tell Ricky, until the latter decided to ship him back to Schaumburg without any explanations, and Tinsley wondered if Ricky’s furtive gazes and “you deserve love” even meant anything at all.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it was Ricky’s voice crack in the tape recorder. Perhaps it was Ricky’s heartbreakingly disheveled look when they finally met again. Or maybe it was the uncomfortable twinge in Tinsley's chest that came when Ricky called him a <em>straight man with morals</em> — "you couldn't be further away from the truth, " he would later tell Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>But while Tinsley didn’t know what exactly did it for him, he <em>did </em>know what it meant.</p><p> </p><p><em>One of us has got to do something</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It was a sobering thought, one that was definitely easier said than done, especially for a man who had spent the past eight years of his life trying to forget his sickly attraction towards men.</p><p> </p><p>It certainly showed, when Tinsley barged into Ricky’s study room with the intention of telling Ricky <em>how he felt</em>, and told Ricky <em>anything but how he felt</em>. Even as he struggled to tell Ricky that he yearned for men the way men lusted after women, Tinsley felt the hot flush across his own cheeks, and the tightness in his chest — he felt out of breath.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky was Ricky, and Tinsley believed in Ricky, so he poured out the secret he'd sworn to take to the grave.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm gay, " he heard himself say, and cringed on the inside.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was... startled. His dark eyes widened a little, just enough to cast a shadow of a doubt in Tinsley. Ricky’s rosy lips parted, his mouth slightly agape, and fear surged within Tinsley; he knew he wanted to run away.</p><p> </p><p>But he couldn’t. His feet stubbornly refused to sway, and his entire body remained alarmingly immobile. Tinsley silently scolded his limbs for disagreeing with him, and, in the midst of his rising panic, Tinsley heard himself begin to yell things against his better judgment.</p><p> </p><p>For a man who was customarily so calculated in his insults, Tinsley really just <em>went off the rails</em> this time.</p><p> </p><p>But then Ricky kissed him.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s eyes had widened at first. Ricky was unsurprisingly angry, and Tinsley didn’t blame him; he would be too, if he heard the things he said.</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley did not expect <em>this</em>, and every instinct in his body had wanted to fight back, to push Ricky away, not because he was repulsed by Ricky's bold, almost forceful kiss, but because Tinsley was a man who tried <em>so hard</em> to forget his sexual deviances, to forget that he’d ever <em>wanted this</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It was the right thing to do; it had been for the past eight years, and old habits died hard.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky’s lips were soft, and the muffled <em>hmph</em> noises Ricky made sent waves of shock through Tinsley’s stomach and south. Ricky’s body was <em>so close</em> to him, and Tinsley felt compelled to pull Ricky closer, to feel Ricky’s beating chest against his own. Ricky tugged on Tinsley’s shirt lightly, and suddenly all of the doubts vanished with that simple gesture.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He loves me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Nothing else mattered: Eleanor, Wyatt, 1943, none of it. Ricky was Ricky, and while Ricky was a <em>piece of shit</em> who did <em>piece of shit</em> things, he also cared about Tinsley in a way only one other person ever did.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn’t want to lose <em>this</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to lose <em>this</em>, so he leaned into the kiss hungrily, savouring every moment of it and tugging needily on Ricky’s lower lip. He drank in every sensation — the subtle yet obscene sounds Ricky made, the softness of Ricky’s lips, the want in Ricky’s heavy-lidded dark eyes —, burning them into his mind as though this was the last time he’d ever experience this.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to lose <em>this</em>, so he barged into Holly’s office with a renewed, unyielding conviction, and looked at Holly straight into her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Hand me the White Wolf case, “ he said.</p><p> </p><p>Holly scoffed.</p><p> </p><p>“And why do you think I’d do that? “ she asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you think I haven’t been doing my job, and in terms of catching the White Wolf, you’re right, “ Tinsley conceded. “But I’ve given it a thought, so please. Hear me out. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly raised an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley took her silence as a cue to continue. He had to; he didn’t want to lose <em>this</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“We both know Ricky’s killing spree comes from Lucy Goldsworth’s death, but he’s been doing more than just murdering people. “</p><p> </p><p>“He’s destroyed families, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“He’s trying to find his mother’s killer. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly’s eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>“What? “</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky is trying to solve Lucy’s murder, “ Tinsley explained. “And I’ve been trying to help him gather clues. If we manage to find sufficient evidence, he’s willing to undertake the legal route and turn the murderer in. With that, I’m convinced that will stop his killing sprees. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>Holly stared at Tinsley, looking utterly nonplussed.</p><p> </p><p>“If you’re trying to get Ricky redeemed, it’s not happening, Tinsley, “ she sighed. “<em>Eleven</em> people were gruesomely murdered, and their families have suffered. Not to mention the notes Darla received- “</p><p> </p><p>“-about Darla- “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to hear about it, “ Holly cut in abruptly. “Point is, we don’t know who killed Lucy, and maybe we’ll never know. But we do know the things Ricky did, and he’s going to get time for it, mark my words. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley pressed his lips in a thin line.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand, “ he said.</p><p> </p><p>“What don’t you understand? “</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>know</em> Ricky, Holly. You were his <em>employer</em>. I know that emotions shouldn’t be involved in our line of work, but I struggle to understand how you could be so <em>cold-hearted</em> in the face of his loss. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly’s face instantly fell from cool and calm to freezing cold, almost as though Ricky had murdered her entire family. Tinsley noticed the tension in her neck, and her deeply furrowed brows that showed more emotion than Holly’d ever claim to have in a professional setting.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley swallowed. He knew he should’ve phrased things better.</p><p> </p><p>“I can empathize with people alright, thank you very much, “ she retorted coldly. “But Ricky is a <em>murderer</em>, and a ruthless one at that. It’s not something I can or should forgive as his former employer. “</p><p> </p><p>“But- “</p><p> </p><p>“No buts! “ Holly interrupted. “I haven’t even begun to mention your own involvement with Ricky Goldsworth, Tinsley. Do remember that you covered for a wanted <em>criminal</em>, and I could easily prosecute the two of you for that mobster incident. “</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky did it in self-defense, “ Tinsley refuted.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure he did, “ Holly admitted. “But the nine other murders are not. You were supposed to find evidence <em>against</em> him, yet you ended up hindering the entire conviction process. Neither of you are innocent, “ she accused.</p><p> </p><p>Holly gathered a couple of folders into her arms, and stood up.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve already gotten sufficient information to mount a case. If you’re going to stop me, I’m prosecuting you along with him. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley froze.</p><p> </p><p><em>She’s serious</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Holly couldn’t be more serious her ultimatum. She looked positively aggravated, to the point where Tinsley almost wanted to turn around and leave.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley knew that Holly wanted him to leave. Her unfaltering azure eyes were scrutinizing him. Questioning him. Challenging him.</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley didn’t leave. He barely even moved. He thought of Ricky’s soft lips, and of Ricky tugging his shirt. He thought of Ricky’s voice cracking in Francesca’s tape recorder, and of Ricky’s sullen face in that rainy alley. He thought of their plans of finding Lucy Goldsworth’s killer, and that night where Dr. Fear and Darla almost got them.</p><p> </p><p><em>Faggot</em>, gunshots, Eleanor crying; none of that mattered, because Ricky was Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had stalled for too long. He wasn’t going to back down now.</p><p> </p><p>Holly seemed to have noticed his resolve, because her eyes no longer looked at him inquisitively. She sighed, then stepped forwards, shouldering Tinsley at the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>“See you in court, Tinsley, “ she said coldly, before her heels clicked into the corridor.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>uh oh</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. To Stall An Attorney</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They started with the more sensible ways.</p><p> </p><p>Or rather, they started with what Tinsley knew best, and Tinsley was a calculating man who spoke in details and evidence, which was why Tinsley figured all they had to do was to send their finds over to Holly Horsley.</p><p> </p><p>Granted, Tinsley could’ve done better than to knock aggressively on the meeting room door, hands full of scattered papers, and openly accuse Darla of murder in front of half of the bewildered CPD officers.</p><p> </p><p>Darla, of course, denied all allegations against her, and played the helpless damsel in distress. While Tinsley was hardly fooled by her fluttering eyelashes and her quivering lips, it didn’t take much for the rest of the CPD to be convinced that Tinsley’s theory was complete baloney, and cruel, even.</p><p> </p><p>Evidently, Holly was sorely unimpressed by Tinsley’s attempt, and didn’t bother looking through the evidence, despite his most desperate, poorly formulated pleas.</p><p> </p><p>“You no longer work for me, Tinsley. I’m not looking through that pile of… whatever it is that you brought here, “ she said with a disdain that made Tinsley’s jaw clench.</p><p> </p><p>But Tinsley wasn’t going to let go so easily, because Ricky <em>protected </em>him, and he wasn’t going to lose another person like that again.</p><p> </p><p><em>Especially not Ricky</em>. <em>Not after all that’s happened</em>.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Holly was right; Tinsley no longer worked for her.</p><p> </p><p>But if the issue was Tinsley’s newly acquired lack of unemployment, all he had to do was to convince Holly to hire him again. If he could stall the trials for even just a week, that would already be more time than they had now — enough to convince Holly, or to plan Ricky’s escape (the latter was Francesca’s idea, which Tinsley wasn’t too fond of).</p><p> </p><p>So Tinsley knocked on Holly’s door again. Obviously, Holly wasn’t too pleased with it, but Tinsley ignored her visibly disgruntled look, and pressed on.</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t you want me to screw Ricky over to high heavens? What happened to wanting every piece of evidence? “ he asked, not bothering to conceal his desperation.</p><p> </p><p>Holly hardly blinked at Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>“It certainly would’ve made my life easier, “ she conceded. “But I can work without it. It’s not like I’m a <em>rookie</em> lawyer, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley frowned.</p><p> </p><p>“I never said- “</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter. Plus, I highly doubt your intentions of ‘screwing Ricky over’, “ Holly said, raising an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s mouth fell agape. He wanted to refute Holly’s suspicions, and to convince Holly that she could still benefit from hiring him.</p><p> </p><p>But Holly was right.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had no intentions of catching Ricky anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Holly sighed, and resumed her work.</p><p> </p><p>“Our discussion ends here, Tinsley, “ she let out tersely.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley didn’t want the discussion to end. He wanted to retort, and to tell Holly that she was wrong.</p><p> </p><p>But he couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t, because Holly was right. He could no longer see Ricky Goldsworth as a cold-hearted murderer; Ricky wasn't one.</p><p> </p><p>To Holly Horsley, a detective that didn’t seek to catch the criminal wasn’t going to be of use; Tinsley knew that.</p><p> </p><p>And nothing Tinsley did was going to change that.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>In light of the previous unsuccessful attempts at stalling Horsley’s plans, Ricky decided that he was frankly <em>sick and tired</em> of Tinsley’s so-called rationality.</p><p> </p><p>Rationality was what drove Lucy to Springfield, and rationality was what made Mayor stay in this godforsaken police department.</p><p> </p><p>Rationality, as far as Ricky was concerned, yielded <em>abysmal</em> results.</p><p> </p><p><em>Sure</em>, Ricky may have once been a detective, and he may still be holding attachments to the field. But Ricky wasn’t exactly the logical man in investigations. Logic could never drive him to the middle of a criminal’s lair in an abandoned factory, and logic would never fish out a moldy diary out of the second floor while his accomplice watched for a certain homicidal tenant’s return.</p><p> </p><p>Unlike C.C. Tinsley, Ricky Goldsworth was no rational man. But Ricky Goldsworth was an advocate of grand ideas — and grand ideas sometimes involved blowing up a lake with dynamites to scan for cement shoes.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, Tinsley wasn’t the kind of man to agree with Ricky’s ingenious ideas — Tinsley preferred the term “drastic measures” —, so Ricky came up with a compromise.</p><p> </p><p>What Tinsley lacked, first and foremost, was <em>delivery</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It was as simple as making a few subtle changes in Tinsley’s approach, starting from a softer door knock, all the way to a less antagonistic speech.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> "And wear matching socks for once, for heaven's sake, " Ricky scolded him. </span></p><p> </p><p>Tinsley, of course, wasn’t exactly fond of the idea; after all, he’d been used to attacking his opponents to destabilize them. But when it became clear that knocking aggressively on Holly Horsley’s office door wasn’t going to work in their favour, Tinsley begrudgingly muttered something that vaguely resembled “maybe”, and Ricky took it as a sign to carry out the plan.</p><p> </p><p>The plan, in itself, was executed to perfection. Tinsley had greeted Darla with the warmest smile he could manage, and requested politely to see Horsley. Darla had raised an eyebrow at Tinsley’s sudden and strangely conciliatory behaviour, but opted not to comment on it further, and led him to Horsley’s office. Tinsley took the opportunity, and tried his best to entertain a small, casual conversation with Horsley — as casual as one could be with his ex-employer.</p><p> </p><p>Horsley didn’t take it too terribly, and surprisingly went along with Tinsley; she even mentioned a few nostalgic memories of Ricky as a detective.</p><p> </p><p>The plan was perfect, and everything was perfectly aligned for Tinsley to <em>persuade</em> Holly Horsley.</p><p> </p><p>But amidst their lighthearted chit-chat (as lighthearted as it could get), Horsley’s smile suddenly fell.</p><p> </p><p>“I know what you’re doing, Tinsley, “ she said flatly, and Tinsley could feel his hands go cold and clammy.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about, “ he lied.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I do, “ Horsley retorted coldly. “And I think you’re wasting your time. If you think I’m going to go easy on Ricky just because of this conversation, you’re sorely underestimating me, Tinsley. I am a woman of my words, remember? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley pressed his lips in a thin line. He could feel the knot forming in his chest, and he sighed defeatedly.</p><p> </p><p>“I remember, “ he muttered.</p><p> </p><p>He left the office, his feet dragging behind him and his eyes pointedly not meeting Holly's upsettingly triumphant gaze.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“You want us to <em>what</em> now? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s voice was <em>concerned</em>, and Tinsley’s eyes were wide like dinner plates. It made sense; Ricky had even expected Tinsley to adamantly oppose his idea, because Ricky himself knew it was far from Tinsley’s comfort zone.</p><p> </p><p>However, Holly Horsley <em>clearly </em>proved to be a bigger problem than expected, and big problems required big solutions, which is why Ricky suggested they <em>burn down Horsley’s office</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“This is arson, “ Tinsley had so astutely pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky was hardly fazed by it.</p><p> </p><p>“And your point is? “ he asked dryly.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a crime, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve murdered for less. “</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not helping. “</p><p> </p><p>“But it can’t get worse than that. "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley opened his mouth to retort, but said nothing. He wrinkled his nose.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky pressed on. "What’s the worst thing that can happen if we don’t do it? “</p><p> </p><p>“She’ll put you behind bars, “ Tinsley frowned.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, so not great. And what’s the worst thing that can happen if we do it? “</p><p> </p><p>“She’ll put you behind bars? “</p><p> </p><p>The hint of hesitancy in Tinsley's voice almost made Ricky chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>“Wrong, we’ll buy some time, “ he corrected. “Think about it, Tins. I’m already a wanted murderer, which means Horsley’s on my tail regardless of what we do. An arson charge is nothing compared to what I did. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley winced.</p><p> </p><p>“But if we burn down her office, we burn down evidence, “ Ricky continued. “It’s going to take her at least a few week to retrieve sufficient proof to convict me. And in the meantime, we can sort things out, and get that doctor dirtbag exposed. “</p><p> </p><p><em>And then, you’d be safe</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley furrowed his brows; he looked deep in his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, Tinman. I know you care more about things like these than I do, “ he said quietly. “I can handle the job; I know the precinct like the back of my hand. “</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go with you, “ Tinsley muttered defeatedly.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky raised his eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure? You have a clean record, Tins; you don’t have to if you don’t want to- “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine, “ Tinsley interrupted. “I’ll do it. After all, I’m wanted for ‘obstruction of justice’ now. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s gaze softened.</p><p> </p><p>He knew exactly what it meant.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You covered for me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why did you do it? What are we now? Did you mean it when we kissed? What will become of us, when we finally catch Dr. Fear?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Will you finally come to your senses?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>In spite of the brooding storm of questions upon questions that brewed in his restless mind, Ricky remained perfectly silent, and nodded. This wasn’t the time for the burning questions they’ve both pointedly avoided.</p><p> </p><p>This was the time for just <em>plain ol' burning</em>.</p><p> </p><p>They agreed to meet at the precinct’s parking lot at eleven in the evening. Ricky brought the kerosene, and Tinsley kept watch for wandering police officers. Holly Horsley’s office window was propped open relatively easily, and Ricky quickly hopped into the room; Tinsley followed suit shortly after.</p><p> </p><p>They were about to douse the office in kerosene when a singsong voice sent shivers down Ricky’s spine.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, well, well, who do we have here? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky rapidly turned around.</p><p> </p><p>It was Darla, leaning against the doorway. Smirking.</p><p> </p><p><em>Crap</em>, he thought.</p><p> </p><p>“If this isn’t the White Wolf and his newly found accomplice, “ Darla chuckled mockingly.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not my accomplice, “ Ricky snapped.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh? Then tell me what’s in the barrel he’s holding, Mr. Goldsworth. Surely it can't be anything <em>dangerous</em>, can it? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky opened his mouth to retort, but the words remained stuck in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Detective Tinsley is a good person, “ Darla continued in a deceivingly sweet voice. “Which is why he brought a barrel of kerosene to the Chicago DA’s office. You can’t <em>possibly</em> be thinking of burning this place down, can you, detective? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky turned to check on Tinsley, and found the latter wide-eyed and frozen stiff. Ricky felt a knot tighten in his chest, and clenched his fist.</p><p> </p><p>“What we’re doing in the DA’s office is none of your business, Darla. Why don’t you fuck off? “ he threatened in a low voice.</p><p> </p><p>Darla brought her hand to cover her lips, and chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but it’s my business in every aspect, Mr. Goldsworth. You see, I would hate to see this place burn down. I’m sure you don’t share my opinion on that. “</p><p> </p><p>“I sure don’t. “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so full of conviction, Mr. Goldsworth. I can see why the ladies like you, “ Darla said in a honeyed voice that made Ricky’s skin crawl. “What a shame it would be, if someone were to foil your masterfully crafted plans. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky scoffed. “You can’t stop us. Rat us out all you want, we’re taking the evidence with us. “</p><p> </p><p>Darla tilted her head slightly to the side, and fluttered her eyelashes to feign sadness.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh no! I guess I can’t do anything! “ she mocked sarcastically, then broke into an increasingly unhinged laughter.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky glanced at Tinsley, and they exchanged a confused look, before Darla stopped laughing, and slid her hand into her purse.</p><p> </p><p>“Except I can, “ she said, and pulled out a gun, aiming it at Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>Fear coursed through Ricky’s veins, sharp and cold. It felt as though his heart had dropped several stories.</p><p> </p><p>But before Ricky could even do anything, Tinsley raised his hands in surrender.</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley! “ Ricky exclaimed. “What are you doing? “</p><p> </p><p>“She has a point, “ Tinsley shrugged. “Look, Darla, we’re sorry. Can you please leave us alone, and we won’t touch the office? “</p><p> </p><p>Darla laughed. “What makes you think you have the advantage here, detective Tinsley? “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right, we don’t, “ Tinsley conceded. “But are you sure this is how you want to go? I mean, you’re not exactly innocent if Holly walks in tomorrow and finds two of her ex-employees dead. “</p><p> </p><p>Darla blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll get rid of your bodies, “ she answered blankly.</p><p> </p><p>“You won’t. “</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley! “ Ricky scolded. “Fucking hell, do you want to live or not? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley shrugged — not exactly the answer Ricky had hoped for.</p><p> </p><p>“I know your M.O., Darla, “ Tinsley continued. “You may not be as dramatic as this guy over here- “</p><p> </p><p>“-Tinsley- “</p><p> </p><p>“-let me finish, but you do have your own pattern. Granted, you probably had some help with cover-up, but it didn’t take much for me to figure out you were behind Lucy’s murder. “</p><p> </p><p>Darla’s eyes widened. Then, Ricky heard the click of the safety, and he thought of nothing else. Ricky leapt forward, tackling Darla to the ground, and ripping the gun out of her hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me go! “ Darla screamed, and struggled against Ricky’s grip.</p><p> </p><p>“Tough luck, buddy. That’s going to be a no from Ricky Goldsworth, “ Ricky gritted through his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky glanced up, and found Tinsley staring down at Darla with an indifferent look.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess the tables have turned, “ he commented quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“Let go of me, you sick fuck! “ Darla yelled.</p><p> </p><p>“How about <em>you</em> let go, Darla? “ Tinsley snapped. “Leave us be, and we won’t harm you. “</p><p> </p><p>Darla glowered at him. “You’re going to come after me either way, being the nosey fucks you are. “</p><p> </p><p>“We wouldn’t if you didn’t fucking murder my momma! “ Ricky yelled, and tightened his grip against Darla’s arm. “Give me <em>one</em> reason why I shouldn’t off you, here and now. “</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ricky</em>, “ Tinsley said, the way a disappointed mother would scold her child.</p><p> </p><p>“SHE MURKED MY MOMMA, TINS! “</p><p> </p><p>“Remember what we talked about? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s brows frowned in a scowl. He softened his grip.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“But Ricky has a point. We wouldn’t have come after you if you hadn’t killed his mother, Darla. “</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t understand, “ Darla scoffed bitterly. “I didn’t have a choice. “</p><p> </p><p>“What is there to understand? “</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky! “ Tinsley exclaimed.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky shot Tinsley a glare, but did not attack Darla further.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley cleared his throat. “Look, Darla. We know we’ll come after you anyway after this, but if we all agree to pretend this never happened, you get to be free for another day, and so do we. Whereas if you don’t- “</p><p> </p><p>“-I’m offing you on the spot, “ Ricky cut in.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s <em>not</em> what I meant, “ Tinsley retorted, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you don’t, we’re turning you in right now. “</p><p> </p><p>Darla eyed the both of them suspiciously. She seemed utterly displeased with the situation, but Ricky didn’t care — Ricky wanted her <em>dead</em>, and if it weren’t for C.C. Tinsley, she’d already be.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, “ she spat out. “You’re off the hook for tonight. Now let go of me! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t let go.</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky, let go. Please, “ Tinsley pleaded.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t want to let go. After all, he’d finally caught <em>this bitch</em>, and she was right in his grasp, right here, right now, after months of fruitless searching. Ricky wanted her to suffer every pain in existence. He wanted her to scream and beg for mercy as he stabbed the life out of her.</p><p> </p><p>Everything he went through, he wanted her to experience it, tenfold.</p><p> </p><p>But there was something so soothing in Tinsley’s pleading voice that reminded Ricky of them. Something reminded him of Tinsley’s gentle, sleepy-eyed gaze. Something reminded him of Tinsley’s almost gullible faith in the justice system; it was a belief that Ricky, too, once held, but could only see in C.C. Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley wasn’t a murderer.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky <em>was. </em>But he was going to honour Tinsley by doing it his way.</p><p> </p><p>It was the least he could do, as a <em>feckless murderer</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>As someone who loved C.C. Tinsley</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky let go.</p><p> </p><p>Darla brought her hands to her reddened forearms, and shot an incendiary glare at Ricky, before grabbing her gun and fleeing.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky glanced at Tinsley, and found Tinsley’s soft gaze.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky sighed defeatedly, and got up. “Do what you want. I’m tired of this. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. “Tired of what? “</p><p> </p><p>“This <em>whole thing</em>, Tins, “ Ricky shrugged. “I know I said big problems require big solutions, but I’m tired of big solutions. Horsley’s going to be after me no matter what, and it’s fair. I’m a murderer- “</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky- “</p><p> </p><p>“And the law is bound to catch up on the things I did. I’ve destroyed lives, and I honestly don’t know why you’re still doing all of this for me. Maybe I should just go take care of Doctor Fear myself, and hand myself over to the pol- “</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ricky</em>. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s voice was gentle, but insistent. His eyes were soft, but determined. And as much as Ricky wanted to keep monologuing his way away from Tinsley, he couldn’t help but pause, and gaze at Tinsley with a pleading look.</p><p> </p><p><em>Please don’t make it easy on me,</em> Ricky told him silently.</p><p> </p><p>“Go home, Ricky, “ Tinsley said. “I’ll handle it this time. Please. “</p><p> </p><p><em>Please give it another chance</em>, Ricky heard Tinsley say silently.</p><p> </p><p>Logically, Ricky did not want to give it another chance. Ricky wanted to eliminate Doctor Fear as soon as possible, so that he’d never have to see Tinsley cornered in an alley again, and Tinsley would never have to witness <em>that side</em> of Ricky again. And judging from the way their attempts at stalling Horsley went, time was ticking for Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>But there was something in Tinsley’s intense gaze that made Ricky’s heart swell with warmth, and Ricky remembered the countless nights they’d spent in his study room, hashing out the clues that led them to Darla.</p><p> </p><p>“You have one day, “ Ricky muttered. “Can’t promise anything beyond that. “</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>how the boys solve a problem: </p><p>tinsley - shoves pile of evidence he's dug in the wee hours of the morning with his trembling hands and bloodshot eyes in your face and hopes for the best<br/>ricky - b u r n  a  b u i l d i n g</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Caught in a Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'd like to first thank all of you for your vvv kind patience in waiting for this chapter, i really appreciate your support!! </p><p>enjoy your biweekly chapter of disaster gays, power lawyer go brr, and big boi big girl words (you're welcome if this fic spices up your vocabulary hahahah) &lt;3 next chapter scheduled monday (in two days) as usual!</p><p>-midnight blue</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>You have one day.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>One day before Holly Horsley requests an arrest warrant for Ricky, and one day before Ricky attempts murder again. One day, to persuade Holly Horsley, the most powerful attorney in Chicago, to not obliterate Ricky Goldsworth in court.</p><p> </p><p>Evidently, things weren’t going great for C.C. Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll handle it this time, please, “ he’d told Ricky, despite not knowing how he’d handle it all.</p><p> </p><p>And how would he handle it? It's not like he’d be able to stop Holly Horsley, on his own, after <em>four</em> <em>failed attempts</em> at doing just that. Realistically speaking, Ricky and Tinsley were headed for the <em>courthouse.</em></p><p> </p><p>Both of them knew that they couldn’t afford getting there.</p><p> </p><p>No man had ever bested Holly Horsley in court, and Tinsley knew she was making <em>damn sure</em> no man ever would.</p><p> </p><p><em>Holly cannot go to the judge, and Ricky cannot take on Dr. Fear on his own</em>.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley couldn't afford getting there.</p><p> </p><p>He remembered Ricky’s defeated look in Holly’s office — the same look he’s seen eight years ago, in a different pair of eyes. Dread churned in his stomach. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You deserve to be loved, Tins.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was the light that chased away the gunfire, screams, and the incessant clicks and flashes of news-hungry journalists that haunted Tinsley. Ricky was the soothing voice that eclipsed Eleanor’s, Wyatt’s, the Tinsleys’, and Tinsley’s own inner critic. Ricky smiled like the world didn’t bother him, in spite of the deaths that plagued him.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was the reason why Tinsley stopped running away from himself.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley had long lost the last man who made him feel that way, but he wasn’t going to lose Ricky Goldsworth as well.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley couldn’t afford to lose Ricky Goldsworth. Not after he’d tasted Ricky’s soft lips, and knew Ricky’s feelings for him.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately for Tinsley, neither social aptitude nor the ability to stay calm under pressure erred on his side lately, which is why he quite ostensibly yelled at Holly on sight in broad daylight.</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck</em>, he thought, as Holly turned around to face him.</p><p> </p><p>“Tinsley. What a delight seeing you here, “ she said, her eyes narrowing in contempt.</p><p> </p><p>“We need to talk, Holly. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly scoffed. “How convenient is it, that you need to talk to me right as I’m about to meet the judge? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s almost as if you’re trying to stop me. Nice try, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, Holly, no- “</p><p> </p><p>Holly had already turned around, her heels clicking away from Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No, no, no, no, no.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A chilling dread settled in Tinsley’s gut. He suddenly felt choked of air.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley couldn’t afford to lose Ricky Goldsworth.</p><p> </p><p>So he clenched his fist, his nails digging into his sweating palm, and ran towards Holly Horsley.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing, Holly?! Is this not also revenge?? “ he yelled out.</p><p> </p><p>Holly froze. Tinsley could feel the blood pumping in his ears as he watched her face stiffen.</p><p> </p><p>But she didn’t turn around.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">C.C. Tinsley couldn’t afford to lose Ricky Goldsworth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>“How are you better than Ricky if you’re working so hard to put him behind bars? You’re so keen on serving law and order, and not letting emotion get in the way; is this not an act of emotion, Holly? “</p><p> </p><p>Holly’s hands clenched around the case folder she held. Tinsley felt his heart drop several stories.</p><p> </p><p><em>I’ve really done it now</em>. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Tinsley imagined Ricky's pretty, sullen face behind bars. He winced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Who was he kidding? Holly Horsley was a cold, emotionless lawyer, and the best damn one in town. How was he supposed to convince her not to proceed with her work on his own?</p><p> </p><p><em>Ricky</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley wanted to run back to <em>him</em>, to see <em>him</em> again, before everything got taken away from him — again.</p><p> </p><p>But then, dozens of papers soared from Holly’s hands, scattering in the warm breeze.</p><p> </p><p>Holly dropped her case folder.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Law and order precede everything else.</p><p> </p><p>Such was the principle that underlied Holly Horsley's life.</p><p> </p><p>Murderers, honourable citizens, average joes; <em>no one</em> was above the law. As long as Holly did not stray from the codes that universally underlined human conduct, she couldn’t be in the wrong.</p><p> </p><p>That’s why when 23 year old Ricky Goldsworth showed up to her office, dress shirt buttoned to the top and eyes glimmering with hope, Holly couldn’t help but feel an ounce of skepticism towards the mayor’s son.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t because he was the mayor’s son.</p><p> </p><p><em>“He’s such a hardworking boy, I am certain he will not disappoint you, “ Lucy chuckled</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It was because Ricky was Lucy’s son.</p><p> </p><p>Lucy Goldsworth — the brightest detective to ever have worked for Holly.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You know, I very much appreciate your work here, detective Goldsworth, “ Holly said. She put her pen down. “But you know my policy. I can’t accept legacy hires, not even from you. It’s a matter of equal opportunity. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lucy’s forehead creased. She blinked.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Oh, but I’m not asking you to hire my son. I’m just letting you know that he’s completed his training for the police force, and could be a potential hire, since I know you’re looking for new detectives. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“What makes you think that I will hire him? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I don’t. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Holly raised an eyebrow.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lucy smiled, and continued. “As much as I believe in my son’s unique skillset, I cannot hire him for you, and I recognize that. Ultimately, it is up for you to decide, Ms. Horsley. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Holly ended up hiring Ricky Goldsworth. No matter how she looked at it, his record was <em>solid</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you so much, Ms. Horsley, “ Ricky grinned in a way only those who hadn’t known the hardships of life would.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, welcome. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly’s tone was dry, and she swore to herself she’d never give this beaming boy any unwarranted privileges.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s first assigned case was that of a bank fraud. It wasn’t anything too big, and Holly hadn’t thought much of it when she handed the manila folder over to Ricky, dismissively. For a freshly graduated, inexperienced detective such as Ricky, she’d expected the case to require further assistance in a month or two.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t expect Ricky to solve it, nor to do it quickly.</p><p> </p><p>But Holly saw the way Ricky talked excitedly about the case in the corridors; those dark eyes kept glimmering with undeserving hope. She saw Ricky's work records, and the exorbitant hours he'd worked.</p><p> </p><p>If anything, Ricky Goldsworth was <em>zealous</em>, she thought, and shrugged it off.</p><p> </p><p>But it was only when Ricky turned in his first case that Holly caught a glimpse of who he really was.</p><p> </p><p>The case was solved within weeks, which was impressive for a rookie detective. And while Ricky wasn’t able to gather extensive evidence like some other, more detail-oriented detectives would, he <em>did</em> manage to recruit a compelling witness: the suspect’s own accomplice. That alone was enough to incriminate the fraudster, and to return the missing money back to the bank.</p><p> </p><p>“I did it, Ms. Horsley! I caught the guy! “</p><p> </p><p>Holly could see the naively bright light that shone in Ricky Goldsworth's eyes. She fought the urge to let out a sigh of annoyance, and offered him a small, tight-lipped smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure did. “</p><p> </p><p><em>Not bad, for a rookie</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The next case Holly assigned Ricky to was a <em>full-on homicide</em>. There was no way Ricky would manage to solve that on his own. </p><p> </p><p>Holly knew Ricky couldn't. </p><p> </p><p>Except Ricky <em>did</em>.</p><p> </p><p>When Holly arrived at the abandoned factory in what was effectively <em>the middle of nowhere</em>, police cars and blaring red lights were swarming the dilapidated building and officers were shouting around as they dragged out three heavy-set men in cuffs. Ricky emerged out of the building shortly after; he had a black eye and glaring red marks on his wrists, but he was smiling triumphantly at Holly, mouthing “got ‘em” in her direction.</p><p> </p><p>The three men were later charged with the murder, thanks to Ricky’s recording of their conversations.</p><p> </p><p>But the moment Ricky smiled at Holly with his black eye and bleeding lip was the moment Holly knew: Ricky Goldsworth was <em>out of his mind</em>. No sane detective would go <em>this far</em>, and risk their own lives for the sake of a case.</p><p> </p><p>It was <em>infuriating</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t help that Ricky later requested for an assistant in his investigations. Who did he think he was? What gave him the right to flat out request a <strike>servant</strike> assistant as if he could lord over everyone else in the department?</p><p> </p><p>The thought of it alone made Holly’s blood boil.</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t even dismiss him, because of his highly valuable mother. Holly wasn’t going to sour her relationship with her best detective, so she resorted to showing Ricky her most lukewarm magnanimity, in the hopes of one day seeing the legacy hire sidelined for miscellaneous, unimportant reasons.</p><p> </p><p>But then, one day, Ricky knocked at her office door.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to continue working on the Maribeth case, “ he said.</p><p> </p><p>Holly frowned quizzically.</p><p> </p><p>“The case is <em>closed</em>, Ricky. We’ve caught the murderer. “</p><p> </p><p>“I know, “ Ricky replied. He lowered his gaze. “I was just thinking I’d gather some more information. I don’t think we’ve gotten the entire story, and the victim’s family deserves more than to only know the name of the guy who did it. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean? “</p><p> </p><p>“They should know what happened to Maribeth. They deserve closure, Ms. Horsley. “</p><p> </p><p>Holly frowned; she didn’t understand Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why would you waste your time on a solved case? The killer’s already behind bars. Why even bother?</em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t pay it much attention, and waved it off at the time.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky didn’t give up on Maribeth’s family. He went out of his way to visit the murderer in jail. He worked some more overtime.</p><p> </p><p>Two weeks later, Ricky showed up with a massive map of string-connected dots.</p><p> </p><p>Holly called it <em>insane</em>; Maribeth's father called it <em>thank you</em>. </p><p> </p><p>As the victim's family wept and hugged each other over their beloved Maribeth's passing, their youngest, a little girl with earthly brown eyes, glanced up at Holly. She smiled, and Holly felt a strange warmth envelop her. </p><p> </p><p>She reminded her of her sister.</p><p> </p><p>It was... a strange sight.</p><p> </p><p>Law and order precede everything else. </p><p> </p><p>But law and order also serves the lives that crime tore apart. Law and order fights for the family who has to pick up the scattered pieces no one bothers with. </p><p> </p><p>Holly felt a strange warmth pool up at the brim of her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Law and order is about <em>closure</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It took her <em>an orphaned child</em> to understand such a stupidly evident thing. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth understood long before, because he was <em>human</em>. And he didn’t hesitate to show it.</p><p> </p><p>Shortly after the Maribeth case, Holly hired Mayor, and assigned him to work under Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>As it turned out, Ricky and Mayor made a <em>terrific</em> duo. Ricky supplied the grand, <em>batshit crazy</em> ideas; Mayor brought them to life with his organizational skills. Together, they incriminated a murderer by fishing out a diary from the second floor of his apartment, and retrieved the body of a missing person by blowing up a local lake with dynamites — just to name a few of their almost theatrical, yet effective investigations.</p><p> </p><p>Things only escalated from there, and Holly was no longer complaining; legacy hire or not, Ricky had proven his worth as a detective.</p><p> </p><p>And judging from the way Ricky told off gossip-happy journalists for unconfirmed rumours around the CPD, Holly knew that Ricky fought for law and order with everything he had.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky Goldsworth was all Holly ever sought in a detective.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">She grew fond of him, as she did with his mother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Then came summer 1950.</p><p> </p><p>The moment Holly received the call for Lucy’s passing, she felt a lump in her chest. Lucy was undeniably her best detective; to think that she was killed in a drug case was <em>unthinkable</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Nonetheless, it was what happened, and Holly was left with the aftermath of Lucy’s death. Giving Ricky the bad news wasn’t easy. Arguing with the Springfield DA over investigation rights wasn’t easy. Seeing Ricky’s usual radiance drain from his face, and hearing Ricky bang incessantly at her door, <em>begging</em> her to do what she cannot do until his voice cracked, was <em>definitely not easy</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky took the train to Springfield, and left his pure-hearted optimism there. He returned to Chicago with vacant eyes, and became generally unresponsive to most things. His sense of hygiene deteriorated, his speech became brief and mechanical, and he could scarcely get any work done.</p><p> </p><p>Admittedly, Holly wasn’t in the best headspace either. For heaven's sake — Lucy was <em>dead</em>, and Ricky was functionally the same. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Holly couldn't help but feel responsible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><em>If only I could take over Lucy’s case, it wouldn’t have devolved into this</em>.</p><p> </p><p>For a man who spent years advocating for family closure, Ricky was getting <em>no closure at all</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It was unfair, and Holly knew it. But the laws dictated that Holly could do nothing more but to alleviate Ricky’s work, fight off the negative press over staff turnover, and wait for time to mend Ricky back to functionality.</p><p> </p><p>Surely, time would heal Ricky, because Ricky was a candid, human detective.</p><p> </p><p>Holly believed in Ricky.</p><p> </p><p>She believed in him, until sent her his resignation letter, and began his murdering spree. Until she saw photographs of the horrifying injuries sustained by his victims, long before they were finally granted the sweet release of death. Until she felt the urge to vomit before the blood-stained carpet, and the haggard eyes that stared back at her emptily.</p><p> </p><p>Until she realized that Ricky did not only entertain insane ideas, but was also <em>insane</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky <em>betrayed</em> her, and the energy he’d poured into investigations became violent bloodlust.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Emotional over-investment is really a double-edged sword.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It only got worse when Ricky continued, time after time after time, to commit gruesome murders; true to his dramatic form, he’d even developed his own theatrical gimmicks.</p><p> </p><p>It made Holly’s jaw clench.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He's caught in the bloody tempest of revenge. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Holly scoffed bitterly.</p><p> </p><p><em>He can't continue like this</em>. <em>He needs to get out of the storm. </em></p><p> </p><p>Holly had to do <em>something</em> about it. She gathered an entire team dedicated to catching the White Wolf, and travelled to Schaumburg to find the Sharp Eye. She spent months seeing Ricky’s seemingly angelic face shining under the burning spotlight of press conferences, and grudgingly held back — if she was going to do it, she was going to do it right.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“He’s such a hardworking boy. “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Your son has strayed far, Lucy, far into the storm. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I need to show him the error of his ways.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>But perhaps, in doing so, I too, have lost myself in the hurricane</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Tender Crimson</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’ll drop the charges. I won’t take either of you to court. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s mouth fell agape. <em>What the fuck</em>? he thought, and turned around to meet Tinsley’s gaze, searching for answers. Judging from the quizzical look on the latter’s face, Tinsley himself didn’t seem to know any better, despite having brought Horsley to Ricky’s study room.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“But there’s a caveat, isn’t there? “</p><p> </p><p>“There is, “ Horsley answered coolly.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it? Money? An honourable mention from my father? My complete disappearance from this town and discreet relocation to the middle of nowhere? “</p><p> </p><p>Horsley frowned. “I’m frankly offended that you think so little of me, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>“Then what else could you want from me, Horsley? I know you wouldn’t do anything without conditions, terms, <em>something</em> you’d benefit from. You are a woman of words, a legal tycoon who does not forgive nor forget. You wouldn’t show up in my house, <em>out of the blue</em>, after threatening to jail me for <em>months </em>and after purposefully avoiding me in every possible social setting, because you wouldn’t associate with a <em>murderer</em>. “</p><p> </p><p>“Ricky! “ Tinsley hushed.</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky didn’t stop. “I’m only speaking the truth, Tins. Cat’s out of the bag. “</p><p> </p><p>“You know that I could very well be taping this conversation for trial purposes, right? “ Horsley interjected.</p><p> </p><p>“I do, “ Ricky answered nonchalantly. “Do what you have to do, and leave. I’ve got a score to settle. “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not recording you, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“What? “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em>not recording you</em>, “ Horsley repeated, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “That’s the point. I know that I’ve been very adamant on your arrest, and I’ve had my reasons. You’re Ricky Goldsworth, the White Wolf Killer, the man who brutally tortured and murdered nearly a dozen people over the past year. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky winced on the inside.</p><p> </p><p><em>I know</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“But you’re also Ricky, the borderline insane investigator who would imagine schemes and trickeries no other would. You’re the young man with a heart of gold, the guy who would spend an extra two weeks on a <em>solved</em> case, just so the family could get closure on their beloved’s passing. “</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause. Tinsley’s eyes widened. He gave Ricky a look of surprise, fondness and amusement in equal parts.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the detective who, beyond rules and regulations, never lost sight of what is <em>human</em>. And I commend you for that, “ Horsley stated.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky frowned. Holly’s customarily bright and assertive voice was lowered, slowed down.</p><p> </p><p>It was unnerving.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky turned to Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What the fuck</em> happened this morning? “ he whispered, not bothering to hide his confusion.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I handled it, “ Tinsley replied. He offered Ricky a gentle, cryptic smile that warmed Ricky’s insides.</p><p> </p><p>Horsley cleared her throat. “I’m still here, you know? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky turned back to face her. “Sorry, Horsley, “ he chuckled. “It’s just that I have trouble believing you. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I have trouble believing myself.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t, “ Horsley refuted. “You were one of the best detectives I’ve had the pleasure to employ, although your boyfriend here may have surpassed you in many regards. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky and Tinsley exchanged glances. “We’re not- “</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter. You’re both free to do as you please, “ Horsley interrupted tonelessly.</p><p> </p><p>“Just spit out your terms, Horsley, “ Ricky cut in impatiently. </p><p> </p><p>Horsley sighed. “I’ll drop the charges, and I’ll help you solve Lucy’s death. In turn, you’ll stop killing. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened. <em>What</em>?</p><p> </p><p>“You have the flair of a detective, Ricky. Come back to the CPD, “ Horsley pleaded.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky paused. Ricky pondered.</p><p> </p><p>It felt surreal, almost like a weird fever dream: Holly Horsley, the unfaltering, powerful DA, relenting and offering to help him. And judging from the way she called him “one of the best detectives” without even flinching or wrinkling her nose in contempt, she was <em>serious</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I can't go back. I killed twelve people.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But Ricky remembered the sickeningly warm smile of Dr. Fear, and the sickeningly sweet voice of Darla. He remembered Tinsley’s wounded shoulder, Tinsley’s wince that closed around his soft eyes, and Tinsley’s blood that soaked through cloth after cloth after cloth after cloth-</p><p> </p><p>Ricky bit his lip.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, “ he managed.</p><p> </p><p><em>For Tinsley</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>For now</em>.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>"I'll send officers and gather what we know about her. I'll get back to you. Your shady friend from the Federal Bureau- "</p><p> </p><p>"Her name is Francesca, " Ricky corrected. “And how do you even know about her anyway? “</p><p> </p><p>"Francesca, sure, “ Horsley repeated dismissively. “Your shady friend Francesca can bring in information as well. Try not to murder until then. "</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not- “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky could hardly protest when he heard Horsley break into a small laugh. He furrowed his brows, <em>deeply confused</em>, because Holly Horsley doesn’t do laughter. Holly Horsley does rules, schedules, and enough emotional detachment to fuel a dozen broken families. To see her crack up in a way that was so <em>devoid of malice</em> felt like witnessing C.C. Tinsley with matching socks, seven days in a row.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, there she was, smiling lightly at Ricky, not a hint of derision in her laughter.</p><p> </p><p>“Now you’re starting to sound more like the Ricky I knew, “ she said.</p><p> </p><p>They talked some more. Tinsley mentioned something about Dr. Fear, and Horsley designed a cover story for the White Wolf.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky wasn’t focusing on the conversation.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky was eyeing Holly Horsley.</p><p> </p><p>Holly Horsley looked so <em>sincere </em>and <em>resolute</em> in wanting to help him<em>, </em>and that was almost the main problem — except it wasn’t, because the moment she tore the evidence she had against him to shreds, was the moment he knew she was <em>serious</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I can’t go back.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I killed twelve people.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The problem was Ricky.</p><p> </p><p><em>Hell</em>, Horsley essentially vowed to cover for him. He’d cracked Ms. Law and Order, and now the best damn lawyer in town was on his side. By all accounts, this should feel like a victory.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky felt nothing but an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed a lump down his throat.</p><p> </p><p>He remained eerily quiet during the entire discussion, until Holly Horsley turned to bid them goodbye.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Horsley, “ he finally managed.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes? “</p><p> </p><p>“I still don’t understand. “</p><p> </p><p>Horsley raised an eyebrow. “What do you not understand, Ricky? We’ve just spent an hour hashing out the plan, <em>please </em>tell me you’ve been paying attenti- “</p><p> </p><p>“Why change your mind so suddenly? “</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>Holly blinked, and then sighed into a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I was caught in a storm, just like you are. I guess a certain good friend of yours just helped me realize that. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky stared at her blankly. Horsley chuckled, then motioned vaguely in Tinsley’s direction, before turning around, her heels clicking slowly behind her.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky glanced at Tinsley. Tinsley flashed him a warm smile.</p><p> </p><p><em>Trust me</em>, Ricky hears him say, silently.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky remembered the piles upon piles of evidence in Tinsley’s office, and their reflection behind the glint of Tinsley’s wire-framed glasses. Ricky remembered Tinsley’s gentle, yet unfaltering voice, even as Darla threatened to take his life — on <em>several</em> occasions no less. Ricky remembered the lingering feeling of Tinsley’s lips against his own, and the warm embrace that washed away his questions.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky nodded.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The next day, there was a knock on Ricky’s door.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky opened it, and found a familiar figure standing before him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, “ came Tinsley’s quiet, hesitant voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, “ Ricky greeted back.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced up at Tinsley; it was as though nothing had changed. Tinsley had hair messily poking out of his felt hat — as usual. Tinsley’s collar was flipped the wrong way — as usual. Tinsley’s chin was peppered with stubbles that made Ricky feel a certain kind of way — as usual.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s coffee-coloured eyes were sleepy, yet kind — as usual.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky had stalled the questions for too long.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What are we now? What will become of us? Did you mean it when we kissed? Do you seriously not care that I’ve killed twelve people? Are you not afraid of me?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley fumbled with the hem of his sleeves, and chuckled lightly. “I think we both know there’s a conversation to be had. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky gazed at the polished floor of his study room. “… Yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>Burning questions about their uncertain future aside, Ricky wanted to <em>know</em>. He wanted to know more about C.C. Tinsley, every twist and turn of the man’s largely concealed past. He wanted to know C.C. Tinsley beyond <em>work</em>, and understand what Tinsley cherished in the world, what made Tinsley become the blessing that he was to Ricky Goldsworth.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky wanted to know Tinsley. <em>All of him.</em></p><p> </p><p>And it seemed like Tinsley wanted to do the same, because Tinsley then said: “I, uh, I want to go to the lake. The weather is nice, perfect for a picnic. "</p><p> </p><p>A heavy pause.</p><p> </p><p>"I want you to come with me, “ Tinsley added quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky nodded gently. Both men averted their gazes, until Tinsley finally spoke out what both of them anticipated and feared the most.</p><p> </p><p>“Consider this a date, Ricky. I want it to be one. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky saw the flush rise in Tinsley’s cheeks, and his ears; his own heart quickened its pace, and Ricky felt the urge to jump on Tinsley and kiss those rosy lips red.</p><p> </p><p><em>Me too</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t say it out loud.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t need to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the idiots are getting there</p><p>so i'm obsessed with the mbti types and needless to say, i based most of the characters in this fic on different types. i thought it'd be fun if i dumped them here, just for your info; you're welcome to disagree with me if you think a character is different than my typing, i am human i can be wrong and sometimes i read way too much about pop psychology that doesn't even have a scientific basis SUE ME<br/>ricky g - enfp<br/>tinsley - infj in ni-ti loop<br/>holly - entj<br/>francesca - initially typed as enfp, but i later realized the more i wrote her the less crackhead she felt to me<br/>lucy g - isfj<br/>darla - esfp <br/>dr fear - enfj</p><p>also bad news, i'm still stuck in finals until next week, so i'm going to have to cancel this thursday's chapter D: next chapter is quite a bit of stock, so i really want to make sure i get it right! <br/>= next chapter comes out next monday<br/>thank you so much for your kind understanding &amp; for reading/supporting this fic, i'll see you next week &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. Beets and Cheese</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what's crack a lackin my dudes i am back snazzin and poppin and i have survived!!! thank you so much for your kind patience in the past weeks :') </p><p>now that i'm done with school, i should have more time to write (and i just finished a sick sick chapter that i can't wait to post, but i guess you just have to wait for it) </p><p>anyways hope you enjoy!! &lt;3</p><p>-midnight blue</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ricky hurried into the kitchen; he had every intention to pack the <em>best picnic Tinsley had ever seen</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The problem was that Ricky didn’t know what <em>the best picnic Tinsley had ever seen</em> entailed, so he resorted to rummaging around drawers and cupboards and frantically shoving tomatoes and beets into a wicker basket, as pots and pans clanked cacophonically around him.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Goldsworth? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky turned around abruptly.</p><p> </p><p>It was just the maid, Rose, who raised an eyebrow at… whatever Ricky was doing over there.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here? “ Rose asked hesitantly.</p><p> </p><p>“Packing some food, “ Ricky muttered, and quickly resumed to his agitated search. “For a picnic. “</p><p> </p><p>“But sir, you never go on picnics- “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have time to explain! Where’s the Chardonnay?! “</p><p> </p><p>“R-right here, Mr. Goldsworth. “</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, “ Ricky grabbed the bottle and tucked it right next to the goat cheese. “I’ll be heading out now. And not a word to my father; I know he’s busy, but if he asks, I’m out with Francesca. Understood? “</p><p> </p><p>Rose gulped, then nodded as she watched Ricky dart towards the front entrance to a familiar male figure.</p><p> </p><p><em>Why the beets? </em>she thought, but dared not to ask.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, “ Ricky huffed as he reached the front door. “I’m ready, Tinman. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley stared at Ricky, then at the two seemingly full baskets in Ricky’s hands. He blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“I was just throwing the idea out there; I didn’t think you’d actually pack this much, “ he chuckled, scratching his neck lightly.</p><p> </p><p>“What can I say? I’m an <em>expert</em> when it comes to picnics, “ Ricky answered, winking to hide his inner panic.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want me to carry anything? Those seem pretty heavy- “</p><p> </p><p>“Just shut up and let’s go! “ Ricky yelled and stormed out of his house.</p><p> </p><p>He pushed a basket into Tinsley’s arms nevertheless, and silently thanked the weight of it for masking the trembling of his hands.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The scenery was <em>beautiful</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Puffs of snow-coloured clouds floated lazily across the light cerulean sky, their reflections moving serenely with the gentle waves of the lake. The sparrows chirped and the cardinals whistled ethereal melodies against the flutter of leaves in the warm, almost-summer breeze.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley’s gaze lit up as he dug into Ricky’s idyllic picnic feast. He smiled at Ricky brightly, the cusps of his cheeks gently teasing his coffee-coloured eyes with light crinkles at the corners.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> "This is the best picnic I've ever had, " he whispered. </span></p><p> </p><p>Except that didn’t exactly happen. Instead, Ricky and Tinsley both stared at the “picnic feast” that laid before them on the fresh grass.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“So, expert at picnics, huh, “ he commented, a hint of amusement in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“The fuck is that supposed to mean? “ Ricky shot back almost defensively.</p><p> </p><p>“Then explain the beets. Who on Earth brings beets to a picnic? “</p><p> </p><p>“Is that <em>not</em> a common picnic item? “</p><p> </p><p>“No?! “ Tinsley exclaimed. “Have you ever been to a picnic, Ricky? “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky opened his mouth to retort, but out came nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“… No. But that doesn't mean- "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled. “Look at me, “ he said softly.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky obliged, and met Tinsley’s tender brown eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>There was less judgment in Tinsley’s gaze than Ricky had expected — actually, there wasn’t a hint of judgment in that soft look. It was a fond stare that could make anyone melt, and it made Ricky’s heart flutter.</p><p> </p><p><em>I want to know more about you</em>, he thought.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>They managed to put together a decent sandwich, or rather, Ricky managed to make <em>beet and cheese sandwiches</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“This tastes better than I thought, “ Tinsley said as he stared at the sandwich incredulously.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky snickered. “I guess I am an expert at picnics after all. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley looked at him blankly, completely nonplussed.</p><p> </p><p>“You brought <em>beets</em> and <em>Chardonnay </em>to a picnic, yet you couldn't remember to bring the tablecloth. “</p><p> </p><p>“Look, it’s not like you would do any better, would you? “</p><p> </p><p><em>You barely take care of yourself. I wouldn’t even be surprised if you brought cat food if it were you</em>, Ricky thought, but chose not to voice out, because God forbid if Tinsley found about his little expeditions.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley carded his fingers through his mussed hair, and stared at the lake pensively. “Probably, “ he hedged. “I cook for subsistence, not for fancy gastronomy like you people do. “</p><p> </p><p>“It’s called <em>taking care of oneself</em>, thank you very much. “</p><p> </p><p>“You mean gross extravagance. “</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a piece of shit, Tinsley. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley broke into an unrestrained laughter. That wouldn’t have been a problem, if only Tinsley didn’t <em>laugh like the fucking sun</em>. Ricky should’ve been used to it by this point — <em>really should’ve</em> —, but he couldn’t help but feel the urge to smile giddily at this tall, unkempt idiot.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I want to know more about you, C.C. Tinsley.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“On a more serious note, “ Tinsley said. “This sandwich is actually surprisingly good. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky smirked. “You’re welcome. I like to think of myself as a master of improvisation. “</p><p> </p><p>“A master of improvisation is just an unprepared man. “</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you, it just means I come up with good spontaneous ideas, “ Ricky retorted defensively.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled. “Oh, you have <em>wild ideas</em> alright. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the man who suggested that we <em>incinerate Holly’s office</em>. “</p><p> </p><p>“Desperate times call for desperate measures. “</p><p> </p><p>“Sure thing, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky rolled his eyes. “ANYWAY, I’d like to insist that while I may have never been to a picnic before, I am an expert at cooking. You may have just tasted such an example. “</p><p> </p><p>He motioned snobbishly towards the nearly finished piece in Tinsley's hand. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley snorted. “Doubtful, “ he replied with an amused grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em>for fuck’s sake</em>, I’m going to poison your food. “</p><p> </p><p>“As long as you make it for me; and make the eggs sunny side up! “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky let out an exasperated groan.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re insufferable, “ he said fondly, and took another bite of the sandwich. The soft bread slice was filled with the tart and cheesy taste of the beet-cheese-balsamic vinegar combination.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky had every intention to commit this flavour to memory.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The sandwiches were eaten, and the wine bottle was emptied; but they sat by the lake some more.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky glanced at Tinsley’s stubbly side profile, and Tinsley’s pale, large hand resting gently on the grass as he gazed softly into the distance. Ricky’s heart fluttered a little.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want this to end, so he opted to sit by Tinsley in complete silence.</p><p> </p><p>Minutes went by.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right, “ Tinsley finally broke the silence.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky blinked. “Huh? “</p><p> </p><p>“The view is prettier in colour. It’s kind of breath-taking, when you think about it, “ Tinsley continued quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky felt the corner of his lips tick up.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! So much nicer to be here when the leaves are out. <em>Fuck</em>, I should’ve brought my sketchbook out today- no, <em>better</em>, a canvas and an easel. Should’ve painted this whole damn place up, you included. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled. “You’d paint me in your free time? “</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll paint you however I want. “</p><p> </p><p><em>I already have</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, <em>Picasso</em>, “ Tinsley said, raising his hands in defense. “I’m sure you would’ve loved to immortalize the scenery however you would’ve done it, but- “</p><p> </p><p>“I’d like to think more as a Michelangelo type of artist, “ Ricky cut in.</p><p> </p><p>“You drew little cabbages and called them carnations. “</p><p> </p><p>“Are you blind? They ARE carnations! “</p><p> </p><p>“Sure thing, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley laughed, and Ricky felt the ebb and flow of that warm feeling within him.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky glanced down at the grass; Tinsley’s pinky was dangerously close to his, and he was <em>acutely aware</em> of it. It took <em>everything </em>in Ricky to not reach for those long, slender fingers and lace them with his own.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky remembered the way Tinsley’s eyes widened the last time he’d tried to hold hands. He remembered how fast Tinsley retracted his hand, and how quiet Tinsley was when he muttered “no, thank you”.</p><p> </p><p>He doubted he could go through <em>that</em> again.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, he wanted to know more about Tinsley, <em>so much more</em>. He wanted to know Tinsley’s favourite song, Tinsley’s childhood memories, and the reason behind Tinsley’s odd fixation on pies. He wanted to hold Tinsley, to kiss him, to…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I want to know you, C.C. Tinsley.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Every last bit of you</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It took him a moment to realize that he blurted the whole thing out. </p><p> </p><p>Tinsley's eyes widened, and Ricky felt compelled to dig himself a grave. </p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck</em>, he thought. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. A Brief Story of Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ooh boy we're in for a flashback (please keep in mind this is a FLASHBACK)</p><p>behold! the infamous 7k chapter i kept mentioning in the comments. also i wrote more than i thought so this will actually lengthen the fic a few chapters!</p><p>cw f slur, homophobia, violence, death</p><p>bone appetite</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was five when he first met her.</p><p> </p><p>Her name was Eleanor, she was four years old, and she had chestnut-coloured pigtails with light blue ribbons twirling about. She smiled brightly at him, and her teeth were slightly crooked. He felt nothing for her; he wanted to play with Scar.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, mother and father wouldn’t let him. “You two better get along, who knows, she might be your girlfriend one day! “ mother had said.</p><p> </p><p>Mother couldn't be wrong about things. So, he obliged.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>He was seven when Elliot, the oldest boy of the neighbourhood, began to comment on the appearance of the girls. “Dorothy is pretty and nice, and I’m going to ask her to be my girlfriend, “ he boasted proudly.</p><p> </p><p>The others quickly followed suit. He didn’t mind all of it, until one of the boys tapped him on the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Who would you pick, Charlie? “</p><p> </p><p>“Uhh… “</p><p> </p><p>He hesitated, not because he couldn’t choose between “so many pretty girls”, as Elliot would probably put it.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, tell us! “ the boy urged him.</p><p> </p><p>But he kept pondering. “I don’t know. Why do you pick someone to be your girlfriend? “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, you pick a girl because she’s pretty and nice, and she’d make your mother proud, “ the boy answered simply, and shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>He hummed, and thought of mother. He remembered mother’s delight whenever he would talk to Eleanor. </p><p> </p><p>“I guess I would pick Eleanor, “ he shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>The boys cheered. He felt nothing.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to play with Scar.</p><p> </p><p>He was about to go back home when he overheard the boys shouting.</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t pick a boy to be your girlfriend, Lewis! Pick a girl! “</p><p> </p><p>“But what if I don’t want to pick a girl? “ Lewis whined.</p><p> </p><p>“Then you’re a nancy boy! Hahaha, Lewis is a nancy boy! “</p><p> </p><p>“Lewis is a nancy boy! “ the boys shouted in a singsong voice, and laughed.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced back at Lewis. Lewis had rosy cheeks, beady black eyes, and tears streaming down his face as he sniffled.</p><p> </p><p>Lewis was crying.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed, and turned around to face the boys.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you making fun of him? Why can’t he pick a boy? “ he asked simply.</p><p> </p><p>Elliot scrunched his nose. “It’s unnatural, Charlie. It’s disgusting, and my mom said he’s going to hell! “</p><p> </p><p>“How are you better if you’re making fun of him, Elliot? You made him cry. “</p><p> </p><p>“That’s right, he’s a crybaby, “ Elliot retorted in a mocking tone. “Move, Charlie, before I start making fun of you too. “</p><p> </p><p>For some reason, he wanted to defend Lewis.</p><p> </p><p>But no boy ever stood up to Elliot Newton, oldest kid in the neighbourhood and first born of a powerful family.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> No boy ever stood up to Elliot, and got back home in one piece. </span></p><p> </p><p>He gritted his teeth, and headed back defeatedly.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“They made fun of him for liking a boy? “ Scar asked, raising an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“They did. They made him cry, “ he answered simply.</p><p> </p><p>“Little brats. “</p><p> </p><p>He snorted, then paused. “I wanted to stand up for him. “</p><p> </p><p>“Was Elliot Newton there? “</p><p> </p><p>“… Yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>“That explains it then, “ Scar sighed. “One of these days I might actually just punch him if he keeps being the spoiled brat he is. “</p><p> </p><p>Scar was always like that: funny, kind, and <em>absolutely terrifying if crossed.</em></p><p> </p><p>He felt the urge to laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I want to be their friend, “ he said quietly. “I know mother wanted me to, but I don’t like them. I’d rather play with you. “</p><p> </p><p>Scar flashed him a small smile, and ruffled his hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Glad to hear that you like to stick with your big brother, Charlie, but there is a whole world out there. Elliot Newton sucks, sure, “ Scar chuckled. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t make friends, or fall in love. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>“Fall in love? “ he asked, finally.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, “ Scar smiled. “It’s something that feels different for everyone. Say, for example, what’s your favourite thing in the world? “</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I like pie. “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m almost offended you didn’t mention me, “ Scar teased jokingly.</p><p> </p><p>“You said thing, not person. “</p><p> </p><p>Scar rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat. “Anyway, how <em>do</em> you feel about pie? “</p><p> </p><p>He shrugged. “It brings me a warm feeling inside, and sometimes I hate the chunks of walnut in it. But I keep going back for more because it makes me happy. “</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if someone ever makes you feel that way, " Scar replied, glancing at the vast blue sky. "It could be love. “</p><p> </p><p>He nodded silently.</p><p> </p><p>“Elliot doesn’t make me happy. “</p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em>clearly</em> you don’t love Elliot, “ Scar laughed. “Is there anyone beside me whom you would like to play with, Charlie? Someone you could call a friend. “</p><p> </p><p>He scratched his neck. “I guess I’m curious about Lewis. “</p><p> </p><p>“A good start! You could try to play with him. “</p><p> </p><p>“But the other boys will laugh at me, " he protested. </p><p> </p><p>“The other boys are naysayers, Charlie. Do what you want, really. “</p><p> </p><p>He hummed.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. “</p><p> </p><p>Scar grinned, then pulled out a large, bouquet-like brown bag.</p><p> </p><p>“Here, try this. “</p><p> </p><p>He looked into the bag opening. It was pink, and it looked fluffy. It was almost like a cloud.</p><p> </p><p>“What is this? “ he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s cotton candy. Try it, you’ll like it, I’m sure of it. “</p><p> </p><p>It felt like fireworks dancing and melting on his tongue, where the sparks were mildly sweet and almost hugged him with warmth. It tasted like the gentle thawing of snow, and the burgeoning of cherry tree leaves. It was like the blooming of those small flowers he’d see on his way home — the blooming of carnations.</p><p> </p><p>A comforting breeze brushed against his skin. He gazed at the cloud of wonders in awe.</p><p> </p><p>Scar smiled at him fondly.</p><p> </p><p>“See? Knew you would like it, “ Scar chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“I do, “ he confirmed.</p><p> </p><p>“Tonight, I’ll read you some Agatha Christie to sleep — I know it’s your favourite. But for now, if you want some more cotton candy, go ahead. “</p><p> </p><p>He happily obliged. As he savoured the gentle taste of cotton candy, a thought came to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Scar? “</p><p> </p><p>“Yes? “</p><p> </p><p>“I think I want love to taste like this. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>He was twelve when Lewis got sent away.</p><p> </p><p>Everyone in the town knew it: Lewis was an unnatural, a nancy boy, a <em>faggot</em>. Boys threw rocks at him, girls made fun of him, parents looked down on him. It was only a matter of time before Lewis' parents had enough of the festering rumours, and decided to leave Schaumburg.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know about all of that, until Lewis told him the afternoon of his departure. They were never exactly <em>close</em>, but it felt like losing an important friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you… <em>have</em> to go? “</p><p> </p><p>Lewis flashed him a stifled smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I do. “</p><p> </p><p>He fiddled nervously with the hem of his sleeves. “Will you ever come back? “</p><p> </p><p>“I don't know, “ Lewis answered truthfully. “I’m scared. “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Lewis. “</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you sorry, Charlie? You did the best you could. You’re my closest friend! "</p><p> </p><p>He lowered his gaze, and stared at the pebbles on the ground. “I could’ve done more. I kept hiding because… “</p><p> </p><p>“… because of Elliot. “</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay Charlie, I forgive you, “ Lewis chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>He blinked. “You do? “</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>did</em> always wonder though, “ Lewis continued pensively. “Why did you help me, Charlie? It’s not like you like boys. “</p><p> </p><p>A pause. His eyes widened a little.</p><p> </p><p>Lewis raised an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“Do... you? “ Lewis asked.</p><p> </p><p>He frowned, searching deep within the recesses of his mind. </p><p> </p><p>"I don't know. "</p><p> </p><p>“That’s okay, “ Lewis said.</p><p> </p><p>“How is it okay? Aren’t you tired that they keep picking on you like that? “ he asked, simply.</p><p> </p><p>Lewis smiled ruefully. There was a small glimmer in his large, black eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you ever loved someone, Charlie? “</p><p> </p><p>He scratched his head lightly. “Scar? “</p><p> </p><p>“No, silly, not your big brother, " Lewis laughed. "I mean like a boyfriend or a girlfriend. "</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. “</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>Lewis patted his shoulder. “When you will, you’ll understand, Charlie. I don’t choose to like boys, I just do. “</p><p> </p><p>“Have you ever loved someone? “</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I have. “</p><p> </p><p>Lewis smiled, and continued. “It feels like butterflies in my stomach, and I think the boy is very pretty. I want to hold his hand, eat ice cream with him, and kiss him. Just like someone else would with a girl. “</p><p> </p><p>He hummed.</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t ever felt that way with anyone before. “</p><p> </p><p>“That’s okay, “ Lewis reassured.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Lewis? “</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? “</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think we can write letters when you’ll be gone? “</p><p> </p><p>Lewis grinned.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course we can, Charlie. You’re my closest friend. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Dear Lewis,</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>How have you been? I hope your new town is being nicer to you than Schaumburg ever was. Most people here have stopped talking about you, and have moved on to other things like shiny cars and Elliot’s mother’s new dress.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>As for me, I am doing well. Mother wants me to get closer to Eleanor. She is pretty, and I've known her since five, although I've never really felt butterflies, or wanted to hold hands with her. But surely mother knows more about love than I do.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>In other news, remember the crime novels my big brother used to read me when we were younger? I think I want to become a detective when I grow up. Solve crimes and debunk mysteries.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> It seems interesting. </span></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Please, write back to me. I’ll be waiting for your news.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Charlie. ”</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Dear Charlie,</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>I’ve received your letter! Glad to hear that you want to be a detective, that is so cool! And if you don’t want to date Eleanor, don’t do it. If I were you, I’d rather get laughed at than be with someone I don’t like.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>The new town is treating me okay… My parents are still worried about me, but I think they’re thinking too much. Anyway, it’s been fun, I’ll wait for your letter, friend!</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Lewis”</p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p>—</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Dear Lewis,</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Are you sure you are alright? You can tell me the truth, you know. Anyway, I hope you are alright.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Father and mother aren’t happy because I wrote to you. They say you’ll pull me into your ‘unnatural ways’. They want me to keep talking to Eleanor, so that the town doesn’t start rumours about me. But I think I should take after you, friend. Maybe I shouldn’t keep talking to Elean- “</p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p>“What are you doing? “ a female voice cut in suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>It was mother. She was frowning deeply, and she snatched the unfinished letter from his hands.</p><p> </p><p>He lowered his gaze. “I was just writing to Lew- “</p><p> </p><p>“I thought I’ve told you already, “ mother said in an icy cold tone. “You are to never contact that filthy degenerate again, Charlie. “</p><p> </p><p>“But- “</p><p> </p><p>“No buts! You’ve seen what happened to that boy. I cannot allow you to bring shame into the family like this. You need to hang around nicer, more polite children, like Eleanor. Why don’t you go play with her? “</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to- “</p><p> </p><p>“Enough! Why can’t you just be normal? “ mother cried out.</p><p> </p><p>He felt a twinge in his chest, a tightness that made him uncomfortable. He pressed his lips in a thin line.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, mother, “ he said, and the doubt seeded within his heart.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Dear Charlie,</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>How have you been? I mean, it’s stupid of me to even write still. You haven’t written back to me in years now.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>You don’t have to explain. I know why, because your mother wrote to me. She told me to stay away from you, and said it was for your own good. I understand.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>I hope you are doing well, Charlie, I really do. As for me, the world isn’t exactly kind at times, but I’ve learned my ways. You don’t need to worry about me.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>I hope you are well, friend. This will be my last letter.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Lewis”</p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p>—</p><p> </p><p>He was sixteen when he found Lewis' letter in the garbage bin.</p><p> </p><p>He ran to his mother, the salty taste of his tears stinging his tongue. He cried, and yelled, and cried some more.</p><p> </p><p>But mother’s stare remained stiff and cold. Unrelenting.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s an unnatural, Charlie. You must never talk to him again. “</p><p> </p><p>He bit down his lip as he clenched his fist. He wanted to retort, to defend Lewis, and to tell mother that he was sick and tired of Eleanor’s never-ending rambles over her ballet lessons.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to talk to his friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay mother, “ he said instead, and the resentment in his heart burgeoned.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“So, how’s the SPD treating our Charlie? “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie turned around.</p><p> </p><p>It was Oscar — or Scar, as Charlie liked to call him since his earliest days.</p><p> </p><p>Scar had his hair sleeked back, his face was freshly shaven, and he was almost the same height as Charlie — <em>tall</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Scar was smiling.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie smiled back.</p><p> </p><p>“The SPD is treating me very well. “</p><p> </p><p>“Of course they would! A man of details like you is an <em>asset</em> to them, Charlie, “ Scar laughed. “They better be, or else they’ll be discussing matters with my right fist. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“You flatter me too much, brother. I’ve barely started- “</p><p> </p><p>“But you’ve been focusing on this for years, remember? Mother keeps complaining because you pour too much time into your career, and not enough for her darling daughter-in-law, “ Scar joked.</p><p> </p><p>“Well… “</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie fiddled with the ring that wrapped tightly around his fourth finger. It felt cold, heavy, and unyielding.</p><p> </p><p>Scar sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, Charlie. If you really don’t want to marry her, you just have to tell me. I’ll have a word with mother; you don’t have to- “</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t, “ Charlie whispered.</p><p> </p><p>Scar’s eyes were wide, and he looked like he was going to crash a loveless wedding.</p><p> </p><p>It was endearing, until Charlie remembered Eleanor’s twinkling eyes as he reluctantly kneeled before her and presented the ring to her. This was what mother wanted. This was what Eleanor wanted.</p><p> </p><p>“It can’t be <em>that bad</em>, “ he muttered. “We have good conversations sometimes. “</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>hate</em> it when she mentions ballet, “ Scar pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t mind the rest. “</p><p> </p><p>“She rarely talks about anything else! “ Scar exclaimed.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe if she busies herself with ballet, we don’t have to talk much, “ Charlie reasoned.</p><p> </p><p>Scar drew out a long, exasperated sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“I just think that you deserve better, Charlie. You deserve to be with someone you love. “</p><p> </p><p>“But what is love, Scar?! As far as I am concerned, I have yet to feel <em>anything</em> for <em>anyone</em> outside of the family. Does that mean I’m broken? Am I just unable to love? “</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie- “</p><p> </p><p>“At this point, I really don’t mind settling down with Eleanor. It’ll make mother and father both happy, it’ll make Eleanor happy, and who knows, maybe I’ll grow into loving her! “</p><p> </p><p>A pause. Scar’s eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie sighed. “I just want to focus on my career right now, Scar. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I don't want to think about anything else.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Scar bit his lip.</p><p> </p><p>“If you insist. But if you ever find that person, I hope you don’t give up. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, “ the priest said solemnly.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie could feel all eyes riveted on him. Eleanor’s eyelashes fluttered as she looked up to him, eyes full of anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>He swallowed a lump in his throat, and dove in, searching for that spark, begging for that spark to come.</p><p> </p><p>The spark never came. </p><p> </p><p>It felt as though he was going through the motions; mouth parts sliding against mouth parts in a dispassionate rhythm. Her fingers clutched onto his tuxedo, but his hands hovered above her back awkwardly. He ended up resting them on her back.</p><p> </p><p>It felt wrong.</p><p> </p><p>He felt… empty.</p><p> </p><p>Eleanor later told everyone that he kissed like a gentleman, and that he’d make any woman swoon.</p><p> </p><p>He opted to down his newfound disconcertment with a generous swig of alcohol. Only when he swam through empty congratulatory chit-chats, and made his way to the bar, his jaw nearly dropped.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t expect to see the groom so soon over here, “ the bartender smirked.</p><p> </p><p>The bartender was a little shorter than him — everyone was —, he had curly dark hair with one rebel curl at his widow’s peak, and his eyes were dark, sultry.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie felt his heart skip a beat.</p><p> </p><p>“I… I’ll have one beer, please, “ he stammered.</p><p> </p><p>The bartender’s forehead creased a little, then he smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“Coming right up! Although, I must admit, I am surprised that the groom would order such a simple drink. “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not one for the extravagant, “ Charlie replied tersely. He averted his gaze, lest he stare at the man’s muscled forearms for longer than a second.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not a bad thing, “ the bartender shrugged. “Beers are quite down-to-earth, and it’s a shame they aren’t served in weddings more often. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie raised an eyebrow. “I guess I’m a refreshing customer, then. “</p><p> </p><p>“You could say that, “ the bartender chuckled. Charlie felt a flutter in his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>He cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what brings you here? I thought my mother didn’t book a bartender. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I wasn’t hired to do this. I’m the bride’s good friend, and since I do this for a living, I offered her to act as her wedding bartender. Small courtesy of an old friend, “ the bartender shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie felt a tug at the corner of his lips. “I’m certainly not complaining. “</p><p> </p><p>“And what brings you to the bar stool, Mr. Tinsley? I would’ve expected you to be dancing with Eleanor by now. “</p><p> </p><p>The sound of his name from the bartender’s raspy voice sent shivers down his spine, and their gazes met. There wasn’t a hint of judgment in those dark eyes — only curiosity.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I’m just worried about spending enough time with her. I will be quite busy with my work, “ he lied.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh… What do you do for a living? “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m a detective. “</p><p> </p><p>“Detective! That is so cool. Although... I can see where your worries come from, “ the bartender pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie looked at his polished black shoes.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. “</p><p> </p><p>“In any case, I can see that you are quite the caring gentleman, Mr. Tinsley, “ the bartender continued. “You have my blessings, and if you need help in any way, I’ve got your back. As Eleanor’s friend, and as a bartender. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie chuckled. “Thanks… “</p><p> </p><p>“The name’s Wyatt. Wyatt Johnson, “ the bartender replied.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Wyatt. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie smiled, and the fluttering in his stomach grew.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“Where are you going, Charlie? “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie shrugged as he slid his feet into his shoes.</p><p> </p><p>But Eleanor wasn’t going to take that as answer. She crossed her arms, her brows furrowing into a deep frown.</p><p> </p><p>“Answer me! Where are you going? “</p><p> </p><p>“Work, “ Charlie replied nonchalantly.</p><p> </p><p>“Work, work, work, <em>work— </em>all you think about is work! Have you ever thought of me? Of <em>us</em>?! “ she burst out.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry Eleanor, but can we have this conversation later? “</p><p> </p><p>“Later! Always later! Are we never going to talk about <em>this</em>? “</p><p> </p><p>“About what? “</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you see it, Charlie? Does this look like a <em>family</em> to you? “</p><p> </p><p>“I- “</p><p> </p><p>“Even before we got married, you barely wanted to talk to me. You only did it because Mrs. Tinsley told you to, and I could see you yawning whenever I mentioned ballet. When you proposed to me, I thought that you might have actually cared behind that stoic facade of yours, and I foolishly bought into it, because I cared. I gave up <em>ballet</em> for you. And now? “ Eleanor scoffed. “You leave home early, and you come back late at night. We haven’t kissed since our wedding, and you refuse to even share a bed with me! How are we ever going to have a child like this? It’s almost as if you- you… “</p><p> </p><p>Eleanor broke into tears. She wept, and wept, and wept.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie blinked; he felt nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“I- “</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t even try. You clearly don’t care, “ Eleanor sniffled.</p><p> </p><p>“I do care, “ Charlie refuted defensively. “I do- “</p><p> </p><p>“Then prove it! “ Eleanor screamed. “Kiss me, right now. Prove to me that you aren’t an unnatural, and I won’t tell your mother. “</p><p> </p><p>“You- “</p><p> </p><p>“That’s right. You won’t respond to me, but you’ll respond to <em>her</em>! I know about your letters with Lewis, and how hard Mrs. Tinsley tried to push us together to help your cause, “ she continued dangerously. “It would be such a shame if rumours were to fly off that detective Tinsley is a nancy boy, don’t you think? I don’t think the SPD would like that. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie’s eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>“You wouldn’t do that. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but I <em>will</em>, “ Eleanor threatened. “They will all side with me, because I’m the wronged one in this situation. I’ve been disgraced enough already. “</p><p> </p><p>Her voice was chilling. Charlie felt his blood run cold.</p><p> </p><p>“Kiss me now, or I will make sure you never recover from this. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie clenched his jaw. He wanted to run away from the house, and to see Wyatt. He wanted to see those curious dark eyes again.</p><p> </p><p>But he had a wife and a mother. He needed to make them happy.</p><p> </p><p>So he leaned in for the kiss. Her salted tears tasted like his own, and his resentment grew.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Eleanor’s demands increased that day, and Charlie dreaded the day she’d ask for a baby.</p><p> </p><p>He laid in bed next to her, her chestnut-coloured hair flowing down his arm like a tangled web. He stared blankly at the ceiling, and focused on that empty feeling to drown the disgust he’d come to feel when he embraced her. Dread churned in his stomach, the ring on his finger felt heavy, and he wished direly for its riddance, if not for his own release, then at least for hers.</p><p> </p><p><em>She deserves better</em>.</p><p> </p><p>In a strange turn of events, Wyatt became the only person that kept him sane. He began to frequently visit Wyatt’s bar, under the pretext of seeking marriage advice from Eleanor’s friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Kissing her just doesn’t seem to make the cut anymore, “ he let out defeatedly.</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt swiftly mixed a martini for a neighbouring customer, before turning back to Charlie.</p><p> </p><p>“I think you need to be more intimate with her, and that doesn’t necessarily involve bedroom activities, “ Wyatt said soberly. “Be more caring in your kiss. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie blinked. “What do you mean? “</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt let out an exasperated sigh, and walked out of the bar stand. He grabbed Charlie’s hands, and stared at him. Charlie gulped.</p><p> </p><p>“First, you hold her hands, gently, like this, “ Wyatt instructed. Charlie felt the soft, tingling touch of Wyatt’s rough fingers against his own.</p><p> </p><p>“Then, you wrap your arm around her waist, like this, “ Wyatt continued, placing his hand on the small of Charlie’s back. A warm feeling rose from his soothing touch.</p><p> </p><p>“You could also bring her closer by pulling her in, like this. “</p><p> </p><p>The next thing Charlie knew was that Wyatt pulled him towards him, firmly. Charlie felt Wyatt’s breath quickening against his own, and his heart was making somersaults at this point. Blood was pounding in his ears, his hands were sweating, and it was taking him everything to not close the gap between their lips.</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt promptly stepped back, and the empty feeling replaced him again.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie blinked, barely able to register what had just happened.</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt cleared his throat audibly.</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, work on your kiss, Charles. It’s going to do her wonders, “ he said dryly, and resumed his work.</p><p> </p><p>That night, Charlie left the bar with a strange drink. Warmth mixed with a chilling fear in an unlikely cocktail, topped with the realization that he was <em>utterly, utterly fucked</em>.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Charlie wasn’t quite sure what prompted him to write again, but he did so anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it was the sudden memory of Lewis' last letter. Maybe it was mother’s sour look when, once, he refused to cancel a work day for Eleanor — mother and father both scolded him copiously that day. Maybe it was the fact that Eleanor had just stormed out of their bedroom crying, because she wanted a child.</p><p> </p><p>Or maybe, just maybe, he’d finally understood the love Scar and Lewis were talking about. The kind that made him want to go back to Wyatt’s bar night after night after night, and the kind that made his heart flutter whenever he met those sultry dark eyes. The kind that stirred his stomach with butterflies, and made his skin tingle whenever their elbows brushed past each other.</p><p> </p><p>Regardless of the reason, Charlie sat at the edge of his bed, and began writing.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Dear Wyatt,</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>Perhaps this is just an idiotic thing to do, but I’ve always only dealt with things like these through letters.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>I know that I’ve always come to you for my marriage woes, dear friend. But I think I’ve finally found the source of it all, and maybe I have to thank Scar and my old friend for it.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>You see, I came into this marriage feeling nothing. I thought it was a fault of my own, because I had never felt anything the likes of love before. I thought that with time, I’d come to love Eleanor for the good woman that she is.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>Unfortunately, I was quickly proven wrong when I met you. Your dark, charming eyes entrance me, and I never know what’s behind them. Your manners and raspy voice make my heart quicken its pace, and I feel warmth in your presence. You keep me sane when all I can think about is her baby wish, and I’d be lying if I said I never wanted to taste your lips.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>I don’t love her, Wyatt. But I am positive that I harbour stronger feelings for you. I don’t know if you share my sentiment, and frankly, I am afraid that you don’t. But a certain old friend of mine far preferred to be ridiculed than to be separated from his loved one. So here is my attempt at honouring him by doing the same.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>I love you, Wyatt Johnson.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>Sincerely,</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>Charles C. Tinsley. “</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Charlie stared down at the letter, and the letter stared back at him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Why can’t you just be normal? “</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Charlie winced, and tucked the letter away in his bedside drawer.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>He nearly forgot about the letter.</p><p> </p><p>Life went on as it usually did: Charlie worked long hours at the SPD, and dreaded the moment he had to leave the precinct. Eleanor kept pressuring him for a child, and he stalled it under the pretext that it wasn’t “the perfect time” yet. She coped by purchasing a sizeable number of baby items: rattles, children's books, a baby carriage — all of which began to pile up in their house. He coped by visiting Wyatt several nights a week, much to her dismay.</p><p> </p><p>This went on until September 1943.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if this isn’t Charles Tinsley, famed detective of the SPD! “ Scar exclaimed as he stepped foot into Charlie’s office.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“Please don’t call me that. “</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, I won’t tease you, “ Scar chuckled. “I just wanted to come check on my little brother. It’s been a while, Charlie. “</p><p> </p><p>“It has been, indeed. “</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Christ</em>, Charlie, you look terrible. What happened now? She wanted her baby again? “</p><p> </p><p>A pause.</p><p> </p><p>“Bullseye, “ Scar muttered under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m used to it now, Scar, “ Charlie waved it off. “You don’t need to worry about me, really. “</p><p> </p><p>Scar shook his head. “But are you happy, Charlie? Are you content with how your life turned out? “</p><p> </p><p>“I… “</p><p> </p><p>“Is this how you want to spend the rest of your life? Do you not want to live with someone who wouldn’t judge you, and whom you love instead? “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie winced a little. Wyatt’s warm smile and curious dark eyes surfaced in his mind.</p><p> </p><p>He thought of Eleanor’s cold, contemptuous gaze. He thought of mother’s disdainful look whenever he refused her advances.</p><p> </p><p>“But what if that comes at a great cost, Scar? Is that still worth it? “</p><p> </p><p>Oscar’s eyes lit up.</p><p> </p><p>“You love someone, “ he diagnosed.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie lowered his gaze. “… Yeah, “ he said, and carded his fingers through his combed hair.</p><p> </p><p>“What is that person like? “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie glanced at Scar. The latter’s eyes were devoid of judgment — there was only curiosity. And yet, Charlie couldn’t help but remember the way mother had spitefully called Lewis an <em>unnatural</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to take his precautions.</p><p> </p><p>“She makes me feel warm on the inside, and I think she is stunning, “ he hedged. “She has dark, curious eyes, and she never hesitates to give me a listening ear. She’s very direct and forward, and I keep wanting to see her. “</p><p> </p><p>“She sounds like an amazing person, Charlie, “ Scar sniffed.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, are you crying? “</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m just… I’m proud of you, Charlie. This sounds like love. It really does. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie blinked.</p><p> </p><p><em>Love</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“But… I’m not sure she returns my feelings, “ he said, fiddling with his pen.</p><p> </p><p>Scar shrugged. “How do you know if you don’t try? “</p><p> </p><p>“What? “</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know she doesn’t if you don’t ask her? “ Scar repeated.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie thought of the letter. He thought of that night at the bar, where their lips were mere inches apart-</p><p> </p><p>“I guess you’re right, “ he muttered.</p><p> </p><p>Scar smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“I say go for it, Charlie. If it’s love that you’re feeling, don’t give up on it. And if mother and father give you shit for trying, I’ll be standing with you, by your side. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie let out a humourless chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Scar. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Charlie came home to the loud shuffling of suitcases and slamming of doors.</p><p> </p><p>She found the letter before him.</p><p> </p><p>“You… ! “ she growled, pointing at him accusingly with the crumpled letter.</p><p> </p><p>He raised his hands in defense.</p><p> </p><p>“I can explain- “</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to lie to me anymore, Charlie, “ she spat at him bitterly. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. You never looked at me the same way you look at him. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie opened his mouth to retort, but the words died at his throat.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I gave you everything, Charlie, " she continued, her voice breaking at the brim. "My life, my hopes and dreams, everything! I know that you cannot return what I gave you, but I thought you'd at least have the decency to pretend with me. I thought we could still be a family on the surface. "</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Charlie didn't wince. Charlie didn't weep. Charlie didn't feel the urge to hug her, to console her. Only dull guilt welled up at the pit of his stomach, and made him step forward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"Eleanor... "</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Don't, " she cut in abruptly. "We can’t keep lying to ourselves like this anymore. I want a divorce. “</p><p> </p><p>He nodded.</p><p> </p><p>She handed him his suitcases, and crossed her arms expectantly.</p><p> </p><p>He grabbed the suitcases, and left the house.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“Mother, father, I am home, “ he greeted as soon as the door opened.</p><p> </p><p>Mother shot him an incendiary glare. He could feel a lump form within his chest.</p><p> </p><p>She pointed at him, her finger trembling.</p><p> </p><p>“You... You are not my son. No son of mine is a nancy boy! “</p><p> </p><p>“But mother- “</p><p> </p><p>“Get the hell out of my house, you filthy degenerate! “ father cut in abruptly. “Eleanor told us everything. From now on, we do not claim you. “</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, I can explain- “</p><p> </p><p>“Save your explanations, <em>faggot</em>, “ mother spat at him bitterly. “I’ve warned you multiple times over the years. You never listened to me. You don’t deserve to be heard. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie felt his heart drop several stories.</p><p> </p><p>“NOW GET OUT! “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>He spent the night sleeping at the precinct, shivering.</p><p> </p><p>He thought of Wyatt, and smiled sadly.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to tell Wyatt everything. He wanted to tell Wyatt about how his eyes kept drifting towards him the day they met, and how much he wanted to see him again, and again, and again. He wanted to hold Wyatt’s hand, kiss Wyatt’s lips, and take Wyatt out on a date.</p><p> </p><p>But perhaps, he wanted to wash away the pain of the night beforehand.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t get the opportunity to do that, because he was quickly submerged with divorce paperwork, and actual work.</p><p> </p><p>She got the house, and he got his clothes. Despite Scar’s best pleas to live with him, Charlie moved permanently into his office at the precinct, dropping by Scar’s place only to clean himself.</p><p> </p><p>He tried to call Wyatt several times, to no avail. He tried to visit Wyatt’s bar; Wyatt wasn’t there.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, he received a call from Eleanor, a week after the divorce was officialized.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s talk at the house, Charlie. Three o’clock. “</p><p> </p><p>Her voice was overly sweet, and it made his skin crawl.</p><p> </p><p>“What if I don’t want to? “ he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“You owe me at least this bit of decency, after putting me through three years of gross neglect, Charlie. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie felt a lump in his throat.</p><p> </p><p><em>She’s right. She deserved better</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, “ he said, and the guilt within him festered.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“I have a bad feeling about this, “ came Scar’s voice on the other end of the line.</p><p> </p><p>“Why? “ Charlie shrugged. “She has a point. “</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, I know you haven’t exactly been the <em>model husband of the year</em>, “ Scar conceded. “But it feels fishy. It’s too sudden. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“I appreciate your concern for me, Scar. I really do. But I think I can do this. I think I should do this. “</p><p> </p><p>“But what about yourself? You barely have anywhere to sleep at! “</p><p> </p><p>“I’m doing just fine at the precinct, “ Charlie insisted. “You told me to not give up on love, right? “</p><p> </p><p>“… Right. “</p><p> </p><p>“I should at least cut this clean. For… <em>her</em> sake. “</p><p> </p><p>"But why now, Charlie? She took your house and your family! You <em>never</em> cared about her sake- "</p><p> </p><p>"Exactly, " Charlie retorted. "I owe her at least this much. "</p><p> </p><p>Silence on the other end.</p><p> </p><p>“… Okay, Charlie. Just be careful. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The clock struck three, and Charlie realized that he should’ve been more careful.</p><p> </p><p>He might not have loved her, but he did trust her. Unfortunately, the ropes around his wrists and ankles, and the worryingly murderous looks on his assailants’ faces suggested that he <em>really should’ve been more careful</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Father, Mother, Eleanor; he really wasn’t surprised to see such familiar faces.</p><p> </p><p>What he didn’t expect to see was Wyatt.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes widened at the sight of the man who made his heart flutter. “Why? “ he asked simply.</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt scoffed. There was a dangerous glint in those cold, dark eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Why? “ he repeated mockingly. “Why do you think, Charles? Had I known <em>this</em> was the reason why you mistreated my dear friend, I would’ve cut ties with you sooner! Not everyone is a <em>disgusting queer</em> like you are! “</p><p> </p><p>“That’s right, you’re just a FAG! An unnatural FAILURE! “ mother screamed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Charlie closed his eyes and winced. Eleanor laughed unhingedly, and pointed her blade at Charlie’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>He flinched.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Eleanor! We agreed to this for the family's sake, but please don't drag this any longer than it should, “ came father’s hurrying voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry Mr. Tinsley, but it’s going to take longer than planned, “ Eleanor said in an eerily singsong voice. “He needs to taste the suffering I’ve gone through in the past three years. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie swallowed. He thought of the countless times he’d turned her down: the kisses he never gave, the embraces he never tightened, and the children that would never be born.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> The well of guilt within him grew. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="Apple-converted-space">They're right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He lowered his gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Eleanor. “</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not enough, Charlie, “ Eleanor answered bitterly. “Sorry won’t bring back my youth. Sorry won’t bring back the YEARS and YEARS I’ve wasted on you! “</p><p> </p><p>She lifted her knife, and in came a sharp, cold, <em>stinging</em> pain.</p><p> </p><p>“Die, die, die, die, die- “</p><p> </p><p><em>This is how I go</em>.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>What happened next came as a blur.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie heard a series of gunshots, then a series of thuds.</p><p> </p><p>The living room spun around him. Mother, father, Eleanor, Wyatt; everyone laid down on the floor. Puddles of blood began forming around their bodies.</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie! “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie lifted his head with great difficulty, his teeth clenching from the sharp pain.</p><p> </p><p>“… Scar. “</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie! Are you alright? “ came Scar’s worried voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Could do better, “ Charlie chuckled nervously.</p><p> </p><p>Scar began to untie the ropes. “Christ, let’s get out of here. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie glanced down, and saw Eleanor’s trembling hand.</p><p> </p><p>“What about… them? “</p><p> </p><p>“For <em>fuck’s</em> sake, Charlie, they tried to <em>murder</em> you! How are you still not picking this up? “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“You killed them. “</p><p> </p><p>Scar sighed.“It was your life or theirs. “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie glanced down, and saw the life exit from Wyatt’s cold, dark eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Emptiness washed over him.</p><p> </p><p>“So much for not giving up on love, “ he scoffed to himself bitterly.</p><p> </p><p>“And you dare speak of love? “</p><p> </p><p>Charlie looked down. Eleanor glared at him, and pointed at him with her trembling finger.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not destined for love, honey, “ she managed in a strained voice. “And never will! You’ve forsaken God, and this is the price you pay! “ she gritted through her teeth.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie’s eyes widened. Before he could even retort, Eleanor’s hand fell limp.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="Apple-converted-space">She's right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then the front door was kicked in.</p><p> </p><p>“POLICE! NOBODY MOVE! “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Despite Charlie’s loudest protests, there was insufficient evidence to prove that Scar acted out in self-defense.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar Cole Tinsley was sentenced to life for the murders of Howard and Irene Tinsley, Eleanor Fisher, and Wyatt Johnson. </p><p> </p><p>“Scar, please, you cannot go, “ Charlie pleaded as Scar exited the courtroom. “You’re the only family I have left! “</p><p> </p><p>Scar smiled sadly.</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t your fault, Charlie. You didn’t give up on love. And I’m proud, <em>so proud</em> of you for that. “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You're wrong.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tears welled up in Charlie’s eyes. It took him everything not to break down.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Charlie? “</p><p> </p><p>“… Yeah? “</p><p> </p><p>“Promise me you’ll live well, alright? “</p><p> </p><p>“I pro- no, Scar, Scar! YOU CAN’T GO! LET GO OF HIM! “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Every day, journalists flocked to what used to be Oscar’s house, taking pictures and interrogating him like hungry vultures picked at the bones of a decomposing corpse.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Tinsley, is it true that your older brother is now incarcerated for the crimes you yourself committed? “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Might as well be.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Tinsley, rumour has it that you are a homosexual man, which is why your marriage fell in shambles. What are your opinions on the rumour? “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It's all my fault. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Tinsley, is it true that you took revenge on your entire family because Mr. Johnson refused your deviant advances? “</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You're right in that I am deviant. Unnatural. I don't deserve love.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Charlie felt nothing. He felt empty, <em>invaded</em>, devoid of purpose, <em>invaded</em>, guilty<em>, invad-</em></p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Charles Clarence Tinsley was twenty-two when he lost his family, his job, and his reason to live.</p><p> </p><p>His office belongings were packed in piles of boxes, and he was handed a key to an office on the outskirts of the town.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We deeply appreciated your work, detective Tinsley. However, your familial situation has caused quite a… scandal, and I fear that it may affect the reputation of the SPD. So here’s an offer, because we valued you as a detective.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He opened the door to his new office, and felt nothing.</p><p> </p><p><em>We will take care of news coverage. We will grant you and your brother anonymity, and destroy all public information about your family. No man in this town shall know, hear, or ask any further about the Tinsley murders</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He slumped down the cold, wooden floor, and felt nothing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>From hereon out, your services are no longer required at the SPD. Do not worry, however, for we will provide you with an office, so that you can work on your own, as a private eye.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He glanced at the grainy ceiling, and felt nothing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>For the first three months, however, you are to lay low, so that the media does not chase after you. After this period of time, you are to go by a new alias; C.C. Tinsley should suffice.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lastly, you are to cut all professional contact with the SPD, and you are to avoid the prying eyes of the media. I hope you do not take this personally; this is purely for your protection.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He sighed.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley got up, and began unpacking. He felt nothing, and wanted to remember nothing.</p><p> </p><p>C.C. Tinsley was not destined for love, and never would be.</p><p> </p><p>But perhaps he could make a decent detective.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. Thank You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It went on like that for eight years; I kept Scar's house for his return, and worked at the office that the SPD gave me. At first, no one was willing to hire me; I had expected that much. But then came a couple of cases — Lola Collins, and Brian Evans. Police had ruled their deaths as accidents, and the families had been desperate, so they came knocking at my door. And since I didn’t have much else to do, I worked day and night on the cases; it was only a matter of time before I found things the SPD glossed over. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley paused.</p><p> </p><p>“It became easier after that. I received more clients. I had more things on my plate. Buddy also showed up at my window around that time, and I initially waved him off as a stray. But I gradually took him in. He became family, and so did work. I clung to that, because working myself to the bone still felt like a better option than to see Eleanor’s cold, dying eyes. I didn’t want to remember her. I didn’t want to remember Wyatt, and I didn’t want to feel things, or think about that part of me that brought me here. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley smiled sadly.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I was afraid of getting close to anyone. “</p><p> </p><p>He glanced at Ricky, and found the latter’s brows deeply furrowed, as though he’d been holding cascades of tears back.</p><p> </p><p>“… Ricky? Are you alright? “</p><p> </p><p>“Are you <em>fucking kidding </em>me<em>, </em>Tins? “ Ricky burst out.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley blinked. “What? “</p><p> </p><p>“How are you so casual about <em>any of this</em>?! Are you not bothered by all of the horrifying things that’s happened to you? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley bit his lip. “Well, to be fair, it is my faul- “</p><p> </p><p>“DON’T YOU DARE! “ Ricky yelled.</p><p> </p><p>Startled, Tinsley leaned a step back.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you dare blame it on yourself, Tinman, “ Ricky continued, his voice almost like a growl.</p><p> </p><p>“But I did write that letter, “ Tinsley refuted. “If I had just kept it to myself, things wouldn’t have turned out this way! Wyatt wouldn't have decided that I was <em>disgusting</em>, and my family wouldn't have staged a five-step murder on me! "</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley paused. He took a deep breath. </p><p> </p><p>"If only I had kept it to myself, none of them would be <em>dead</em>, and my own brother wouldn't be in jail, “ he continued. He could feel the strain in his own voice. </p><p> </p><p>“And what? Stay in that unhappy marriage of yours, and let your rampant feelings fester? “ Ricky retorted. “What’s wrong with trying to live your truth? “</p><p> </p><p>An abrupt silence.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley thought of Lewis, and the countless times he’d smiled through Elliot’s abuse. He thought of Scar, and his sad smile as they took him out of court.</p><p> </p><p><em>If it's love that you're feeling, don't give up on it</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“You tried to side with love, Tinsley, “ Ricky continued quietly. “Same sex, different sex, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re true to yourself. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley glanced at the grass below. It was a fresh green, like the coloured carnations.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You deserve love.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Soft dew pearled at the corner of his eyes, and rained upon the shades of lime.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley chuckled. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Embers of orange slowly tinted the light blue sky; the sun was setting.</p><p> </p><p>They stepped out of the grassy ground, the tired evening sun throwing their soft shadows onto the concrete sidewalk. Tinsley noted the faint, familiar scent of carnations, and the blinking of Ricky’s unwavering dark eyes. He noted the proximity of Ricky’s left hand, and the mere inch that separated the tip of their pinkies.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I want to hold his hand, eat ice cream with him, and kiss him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The sidewalk was empty, save for the two of them. Tinsley glanced at Ricky’s relaxed hand as it swayed with Ricky’s walking. He felt the tingling at the tips of his fingers, and the warmth fluttering through his stomach.</p><p> </p><p><em>You deserve love</em>.</p><p> </p><p>When he reached Ricky’s hand, it stiffened a bit, and Ricky’s eyes widened a little. Ricky stared at him with those mesmerizing dark eyes; he looked surprised, hesitant.</p><p> </p><p><em>Are you sure? </em>Tinsley heard him ask silently.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley smiled, and gently slid his trembling fingers between Ricky’s. Ricky’s forehead creased, but his hand soon relaxed. Ricky’s hand felt rougher than Eleanor’s, but softer and less worn than Wyatt's. Tinsley pressed his palm against Ricky’s, and the warmth from his hand began to travel to his chest, his heart quickening its beat.</p><p> </p><p><em>I won’t give up on you, Ricky</em>.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for the date, and for telling me more about yourself, “ Ricky said as they reached the metal gates. “Although I didn’t expect you to… “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley felt the heat flush through his ears. “Well, " he stuttered. "How could I keep things from the guy who casually says, ‘I want to know every last bit of you’ out of the blue? “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley laughed as he watched Ricky’s cheeks colour with a slightly rosy tint.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em>for fuck’s sake-</em> you know what, I’m not even complaining about it, “ Ricky grumbled. “But thanks for sharing that with me. It must’ve affected you all these years. “</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. But I think I’m remembering what’s truly important now. “</p><p> </p><p>“And that is? “</p><p> </p><p>“You. “</p><p> </p><p>The next thing Tinsley knew was a firm push on his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a fucking <em>sap</em>! “ Ricky yelled, barely containing his laughter.</p><p> </p><p>“I like to think I’m more of a gentleman, “ Tinsley sniffed amusedly. “Not everyone is a massive flirt like you, Ricky. “</p><p> </p><p>“Oh you- “</p><p> </p><p>“Although I do have to admit, you forgetting to bring that tablecloth was a pretty endearing sight, albeit impractical, “ Tinsley shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>“I still managed to make a decent sandwich, didn’t I? “</p><p> </p><p>“You did, “ Tinsley conceded. “I just didn’t expect to see an accomplished killer such as yourself forget basic picnic items. It’s an amusing contrast. “</p><p> </p><p>Ricky’s eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked the way he did in that rainy alley: sullen.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley opened his mouth to correct himself, but then came:</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you. “</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you take me to dinner first? “ Tinsley retorted, his brows raising at the strange ease in his own voice. Words that would usually terrify C.C. Tinsley now seemed... oddly effortless. </p><p> </p><p>Ricky let out a frustrated groan — except he wasn’t really frustrated. Tinsley could tell; he couldn’t help but chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>Ricky gave him a small smile, then motioned him to lower his head. Tinsley obliged.</p><p> </p><p>“Close your eyes, “ Ricky instructed.</p><p> </p><p>Tinsley obliged.</p><p> </p><p>They hugged, and Tinsley felt a pair of cool, soft lips reach his forehead. His skin tingled where they touched, and his ears rang with the echo of unspoken, mutually understood words.</p><p> </p><p><em>I love you</em>.</p><p> </p><p>They stayed that way for what felt like seconds, before Ricky pulled back.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, <em>Charlie</em>, “ he said softly, and stepped through the gates.</p><p> </p><p>An overwhelming feeling of warmth swelled within Tinsley.</p><p> </p><p><em>Scar, I think I’ve found love</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"mom pick me up the gays are back at it again, " i mutter to myself as i keep writing said gays</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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